anb 


"  The  evening  before  my  departure 

circumstance  presented  me  with  the 

only  opportunity  since  her  illness  of 

having  a  talk  with  Bellwattle." 


SHEEPSKINS    (EL 
GREY   RUSSET 

E.   Temple   Thurston 


Illustrated  by 

EMILE   VERP1LLEUX 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW    YORK  AND   LONDON 

Ifmicfeerbocfeer  ipcess 
1920 


COPYRIGHT.  1920 

BY 
E.    TEMPLE    THURSTON 


Dedicated 

TO 

MY  DAUGHTER 
OLIVE 


My  Dearest, 

Do  you  remember  one  wet  day,  when,  at  your  wit's 
end  to  know  what  to  do  with  yourself,  you  discovered 
some  of  the  MS.  of  this  book  lying  about  and,  picking 
it  up,  began  to  read?  I  was  there  in  the  room  and 
covertly  watched  you.  It  was  the  first  piece  of  my 
work  for  which  you  had  ever  evinced  a  degree  of 
interest.  When  then  I  saw  you  begin  to  smile  and 
finally  to  chuckle  quietly  with  laughter,  I  felt  no  end 
of  a  dog.  But  when,  at  the  conclusion  of  a  chapter, 
you  looked  up  and  said — "  You  know  this  isn't  half 
bad,"  then  in  a  sudden  rush  of  vanity,  I  swore  to 
myself  you  should  have  the  book  for  your  own  whether 
you  liked  it  or  not. 

So  here  it  is,  and  if  honestly  you  can  give  me  that 
same  uplifting  criticism  at  the  last  page  as  at  the 
first,  I  shall  get  a  collar  and  a  lead,  and,  praying 
that  the  muzzling  order  will  be  over  by  then,  shall 
become  your  humble  slave,  as  also  I  am, 

RYE-1919.  YOUR  DADDY. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — A  SETTLED  CONVICTION          .         .  i 

II. — GETTING  CREDIT  .         .         .         .  9 

III. — BUYING  A  HOUSE  .         .         .15 

IV. — SELLING  A  HOUSE          ...  25 

V. — COLLECTING  A  CROWD  ...  33 

VI. — THE  SHOCK  ABSORBER           .         .  43 

VII. — FITTING  A  MOOD           ...  51 

VIII. — MANURIAL  VALUES        •         •         •  59 

IX. — CRUIKSHANK  IN  THE  MARKET        .  69 

X. — THE  ULTIMATE  PURCHASE      .         .  79 

XL — THE  CREAKING  HINGE           .         .  87 

XII.— THE  MELEE          ....  97 

XIII. — BEYOND  THE  FIELD'S  EDGE    .         .  107 

XIV. — THE  GLIMMERING  OF  COMMONSENSE  117 

XV. — HEALING  PROPERTIES    .         .         .127 

XVI. — BRINGING  HOME  THE  MUCK  CART  139 

XVII. — FOUR  DUCKS  ON  A  POND       .         .  143 

vii 


Content* 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.— RED  TAPE    .         .         .        .  .165 

XIX. — PUBLIC  SPIRIT       .        .        .  .175 

XX. — MOWING  THE  SHILSHARD  FIELD  .     187 

XXI. — PUDDIMORE  ACTS  SUSPICIOUSLY  .       195 

XXII. — PUDDIMORE  EXPLAINS    .         .  .     205 

XXIIL— GREAT  DAYS         .         .         .  .     217 

XXIV. — ADVICE  TO  FATHERS      .         .  .     229 

XXV. — A  SOLOMON  COME  TO  JUDGMENT  .     239 

XXVI. — BONNY  CONVEYS  A  PROTEST  .  .     249 

XXVII. — THE  HOOP  WITH  A  GAP  IN  IT  .261 

XXVIII. — A  GENUFLEXION  OF  THE  MIND  .     271 

XXIX. — THE  ULTIMATE  SURRENDER    .  .     281 

XXX.— THE  ISSUE   .         .         .         .  .291 

XXXI. — THE  KEY  OF  THE  CABINET    .  .     295 

XXXII. — THE  LAST  EVENING       .         .  .     303 


Vlll 


Oh  the  sweet  contentment 
The  countryman  doth  find! 
Heigh  trolollie  lollie  loe, 
Heigh  trolollie  lee. 
That  quiet  contemplation 
Possesseth  all  my  mind; 
Then  care  away, 
And  wend  along  with  me. 

For  Courts  are  full  of  flattery, 
As  hath  too  oft  been  tried; 
Heigh  trolollie  lollie  loe,  etc. 
The  city  full  of  wantonness, 
And  both  are  full  of  pride; 
Then  care  away,  etc. 

But  oh,  the  honest  countryman 
Speaks  truly  from  his  heart, 
Heigh  trolollie  lollie  loe,  etc. 
ix 


$oem 


His  pride  is  in  his  tillage, 
His  horses,  and  his  cart; 
Then  care  away,  etc. 

Our  cloathing  is  good  sheep-skins, 
Grey  russet  for  our  wives; 
Heigh  trolollie  lollie  he,  etc. 
'Tis  warmth  and  not  gay  cloathing 
That  doth  prolong  our  lives; 
Then  care  away,  etc. 

The  ploughman,  though  he  labour  hard, 

Yet  on  the  holy-day, 

Heigh  trolollie  lollie  loe,  etc 

No  emperor  so  merrily 

Does  pass  his  time  away; 

Then  care  away,  etc. 

This  is  not  half  the  happiness 

The  countryman  enjoys; 

Heigh  trolollie  lollie  loe,  etc. 

Though  others  think  they  have  as  much, 

Yet  he  that  says  so  lies; 

Then  come  away, 

Turn  countrymen  with  me. 

Condon's  Song  from  The  Compleat  Angler. 


Chapter  I 
A  SETTLED  CONVICTION 


"  The  whole  neighbourhood  is 

startled  by  the  announcement 

of  a  settled  conviction." 


antr  <§rep 


CHAPTER  I 

A   SETTLED   CONVICTION 


[3^  HERE  was  a  quality  of  tempera- 
ment, jointly  shared  by  Cruik- 
shank  and  Bellwattle,  yet  never 
alluded  to  in  previous  records 
touching  upon  their  history. 

They  were  vagabonds. 

There  was  a  wandering  spirit  in  their  natures, 
revealing  itself  in  different  ways,  yet  sufficiently 
in  harmony  to  express  itself  in  a  common  purpose. 
They  could  not  stay  in  one  abode  more  than  three 
years  at  the  utmost.  I  have  known  them  move  all 
their  furniture  and  belongings  one  hundred  and 
thirty  miles  and  leave  the  place  of  their  destina- 
tion in  six  months. 

It  was  not  that  they  were  wanting  in  a  sense  of 
affection  for  a  home ;  it  was  that  they  had  affection 
for  so  many.  To  my  certain  knowledge  Bellwattle 

3 


g>f)eep*fem*  anb  (Step 

has  had  her  eye  on  Haddon  Hall,  Lambeth  Palace, 
a  whole  house  in  Adelphi  Terrace,  a  four-roomed 
cottage  in  Kent,  and  a  mansion  in  the  heart  of 
Surrey,  all  as  possible  and  enchanting  homes  in 
which,  if  she  had  her  will,  she  would  set  up  house 
the  day  after  tomorrow. 

Judging  by  the  advertisements  one  sees  in  the 
daily  papers,  and  carefully  examining  the  lists 
on  the  house-agents'  books,  Lambeth  Palace 
never  appears  as  if  it  were  to  let  and  Haddon  Hall, 
so  to  speak,  keeps  itself  to  itself.  In  other  words, 
Bellwattle  has  to  be  content  with  what  she  can 
get,  and  possesses  that  inestimable  quality  of 
being  satisfied,  so  long  as  Cruikshank  is  happy. 
Whatever  it  may  be,  she  gratifies  all  the  vagabond 
appetite  that  consumes  her.  On  an  average  they 
move  house  every  two  years. 

When  I  left  them  in  Ireland  after  my  marriage 
with  my  Clarissa,  they  were  assured  they  had 
found  the  one  place  in  the  world  of  which  they 
could  make  a  home. 

Showing  me  round  his  garden,  Cruikshank  had 
said,  "Here  I  stay  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  want 
nothing  better  than  this.  " 

Introducing  me  to  her  little  private  sitting-room 
with  its  Queen  Anne  walnut  desk,  its  chairs  as  she 
liked  them,  and  her  portraits  of  Darwin  and 

4 


3  £>ettle&  Conbtctton 

Cruikshank  on  the  walls,  not  to  speak  of  the  Spode 
china  she  washed  every  other  week,  Bellwattle 
said,  "I  like  a  place  you  feel  you  can  settle  down 
in.  This  is  a  room  I  can  quite  complacently — " 
she  looked  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  for 
it  was  a  word  of  considerable  magnitude  to  get 
right  the  first  time — "quite  complacently  see  my- 
self getting  old  in. " 

She  was  so  pleased  with  that  word  that  she 
swaggered  about  it.  When  I  say  swaggered,  I 
mean  she  adopted  the  attitude  of  one  who  knows 
what  she  is  talking  about,  to  the  extent  of  quite 
forgetting  what  she  has  said. 

Anyhow,  in  three  months  after  Clarissa  and  I 
were  married,  they  had  moved. 

From  accounts  I  received,  I  understood  it  hap- 
pened this  way. 

They  had  been  on  a  visit  to  the  English  Lakes, 
and  were  motoring  back  to  London  to  stay  a  week 
or  two  with  friends.  Apparently  they  took  a  cir- 
cuitous route,  for  seeing  Tewkesbury  indicated  on 
a  signpost  as  being  only  thirty-five  miles  away, 
they  turned  to  the  right  and  went  there. 

Bellwattle  knew  there  had  been  a  battle  fought 
in  that  place,  in  addition  to  which  she  liked  its 
name. 

It  would  seem  that  once  a  woman's  fancy  is 
5 


£>f)eep*kin*  anb  (frrep 

stirred,  her  imagination  awakes.  Without  delay 
it  rises  and  calls  upon  her  instinct  which  in  turn 
arouses  her  intuitions.  In  the  space  of  five  minutes, 
whilst  externally  she  has  all  the  appearance  of 
being  remote  and  undisturbed,  the  whole  house- 
hold of  her  nature  is  up  betimes.  A  window  then, 
or  a  door  of  her  mind,  is  suddenly  flung  open  and 
the  whole  neighbourhood  is  startled  by  the  an- 
nouncement of  a  settled  conviction. 

They  had  turned  off  to  the  right  and,  for  the 
space  of  five  minutes,  both  of  them  were  silent. 
Cruikshank  assures  me  he  was  thinking  of  nothing 
in  particular  when,  in  one  of  those  startling 
moments,  Bellwattle  said — 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  we  lived  in  Tewkes- 
bury." 

Seeing  that  they  had  only  enjoyed  three  years 
of  a  twenty-one  year  lease  of  their  house  in  Ireland, 
Cruikshank  confesses  he  was  not  a  little  alarmed. 

"Three  from  twenty-one,"  said  he  with  the 
full  intention  of  being  as  matter-of-fact  as  possible, 
"is  eighteen." 

Swiftly  she  asked  him  why  he  said  that. 

"Simply,"  said  he,  "that  you'll  be  forty-eight 
when  you  come  to  live  in  Tewkesbury. " 

I  never  know  whether  women  have  second  sight 
and  really  appreciate  what  they  are  talking  about, 

6 


&  g>ettleo  Conviction 

or  whether,  ignoring  commonsense,  like  that  of 
Cruikshank's  on  this  occasion,  they  are  merely 
meeting  opposition  with  guile. 

Whichever  it  was  with  Bellwattle,  she  took  no 
notice  of  his  remark. 

"What  was  the  date  of  the  battle  of  Tewkes- 
bury?"  she  asked,  which  was  about  the  most 
effective  blow  she  could  have  struck  at  him.  In 
some  former  records  of  these  two  happy  people, 
it  has  been  shown  how  Cruikshank  clung  to  his 
belief  in  the  superiority  of  intelligence  and  educa- 
tion in  the  male. 

"Never,"  he  once  said  to  me,  "Never  let  a 
woman  see  that  you  don't  know.  If  for  instance 
she  asks  you  the  name  of  a  plant  and  you  don't 
know  it,  say  something  in  Latin.  You  must  keep 
your  end  up." 

But  when  she  asked  him  the  date  of  the  battle 
of  Tewkesbury,  there  was  no  such  device  as  this 
for  getting  out  of  the  difficulty. 

"The  date  of  the  battle  of  Tewkesbury?"  he 
repeated,  and  then  she  knew  exactly  where  she 
was.  "Let  me  see — it  was  fought  between — " 
he  paused.  I  can  scarcely  suppose  he  was  ignorant 
of  that.  Indeed  his  ruse  becomes  apparent  as 
the  conversation,  related  to  me  by  Bellwattle, 
proceeds. 

7 


g>f)eep*b(n*  anfc 

"Don't  tell  me, "  said  he,  "that  you  don't  know 
the  sides  that  fought  in  the  battle  of  Tewkesbury  ? " 

Well,  she  did  not  know,  and  then  apparently 
he  told  her,  adding  that  the  date  was  1465,  and 
with  such  a  tone  of  assurance  that  she  could  not 
contradict  him.  She  knew  he  had  just  made  a 
guess,  and  the  chances  were  a  thousand  to  one 
he  was  wrong. 

"All  the  same,"  said  she,  "I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  we  were  going  to  live  in  Tewkesbury. " 

So,  it  would  seem,  you  can  shake  a  woman's 
confidence  about  a  fact,  even  when  she  knows  your 
information  is  mere  guesswork.  But  once  that 
whole  household  of  her  nature  is  awake,  there  is 
no  confuting  her  settled  convictions  with  common- 
sense. 

I  hope  the  vote  won't  change  them 


Chapter  II 
GETTING  CREDIT 


"Once   I   accom- 
panied them  when 
they    looked    over 
!_  a  place  with  thirty 
bedrooms." 


CHAPTER  II 

GETTING   CREDIT 

WO  customs  always  main- 
tained with  Cruikshank  and 
Bellwattle  whenever  they 
were  travelling  in  their  car. 
At  every  shop  they  passed  in  any  town  or  village 
which  bore  the  mystic  sign — Antiques — they 
stopped,  well  out  of  sight,  so  that  the  proprietor 
might  not  see  the  car.  Had  he  been  any  judge 
of  cars  it  is  my  opinion  it  would  not  have  mattered 
in  the  least. 

By  this  means,  over  a  matter  of  seven  or  eight 
years  they  had  made  a  collection  of  furniture, 
china,  and  glass  at  an  expenditure  that  would  have 
made  many  a  dealer's  mouth  water — a  physiologi- 
cal function,  from  what  I  have  seen  of  dealers,  it 
might  be  happier  to  avoid. 

This  was  one  custom.  The  second  consisted 
in  visiting  the  principal  house-agent  in  any  town 
where  they  happened  to  be  staying  the  night. 

ii 


g>f)eep*km*  anfe  <£>rep  Russet 

It  might  not  be  that  they  wanted  a  house  in  that 
particular  neighbourhood,  so  much  as  that  looking 
over  houses  and  imagining  what  one  would  do 
with  them  if  they  were  one's  own  is  the  greatest 
fun  in  the  world.  I  am  quite  with  them  in  this. 
Once  I  accompanied  them  when  they  looked  over 
a  place  with  thirty  bedrooms  and  one  reception 
room,  amongst  many,  that  was  forty-eight  by 
twenty-five.  Cruikshank  chose  an  oak-panelled 
suite  of  rooms,  including  bathroom,  bedroom  and 
sitting-room,  all  tucked  away  at  the  end  of  an 
oak-panelled  passage.  Bellwattle  selected  a  Queen 
Anne  panelled  suite  with  the  same  accommoda- 
tion, and  then  together  they  wandered  through 
the  vast  establishment,  considering  what  they 
could  do  with  the  other  twenty-eight  bedrooms. 

I  am  convinced  that  the  old  gardener  who 
showed  them  round  thought  they  were  going  to 
take  the  place.  I  am  convinced,  as  they  were 
gomg  from  one  room  to  another,  each  one  more 
suggestively  fascinating  then  the  last,  they  thought 
they  were  going  to  take  it  themselves. 

It  was  only  as  we  left  the  place  out  of  sight  on 
our  way  back  to  the  house-agents,  and  I  said, 
"Really  rather  a  nice  place  that,  with  those 
panelled  suites  completely  shut  off.  You'd  be 
able  to  go  and  stay  with  each  other  for  week-ends 

12 


(Setting  Crcbit 

—  "it  was  only  when  I  said  that,  that  Bellwattle 
asked  me  if  I  thought  it  were  too  large. 

I  assumed  a  tone  of  dubiety  which  made  her 
feel  how  interested  I  was  in  their  affairs. 

"It  all  depends, "  said  I,  "what  you  and  Cruik- 
shank  intend  to  do  with  it.  Did  you  think  of 
starting  a  school?  I  fancy  myself  it  would  be  too 
big  for  a  private  hospital.  You'd  never  get  pa- 
tients enough  to  fill  it. " 

She  gazed  at  me  quite  seriously,  but  with  a 
swift  interrogating  look.  I  always  feel  Bellwattle 
would  never  believe  in  me  again  were  I  to  smile 
or  laugh  when  she  looks  at  me  like  that.  I  kept 
my  countenance. 

"We — we  were  just — just  going  to  live  there 
ourselves, "  said  she. 

Having  no  control  over  his  facial  muscles  in 
these  affairs,  Cruikshank  burst  out  laughing. 
That  was  his  lookout.  He  is  her  husband.  I 
glanced  across  at  him  in  surprise.  If  I  had  not 
done  that,  I  think  she  would  have  lost  all  con- 
fidence in  me. 

Anyhow,  they  did  not  take  the  house  and  only 
a  little  while  ago  I  heard  Cruikshank  say — 

"Do  you  remember  that  house  we  went  to  see 
down  near  Ashford  in  Kent?" 

Bellwattle  sighed. 

13 


anb  <g>rep 

"Lucky  thing  for  you,  my  dear,  with  the  ser- 
vant problem  as  it  is,  that  I  realised  it  was  too 
large. " 

Some  men  get  their  credit  damn  cheap. 


Chapter  III 
BUYING  A  HOUSE 


"  With  any  common  sense 

about  him,   a  man  will 

employ    an    architect    to 

examine  the  roof." 


CHAPTER  III 

BUYING   A   HOUSE 


rS  T  was  this  custom  of  visiting  house- 
agents  by  which  they  came  into 


possession  of  their  farm  outside 
Tewkesbury,  the  management  of 
which,  in  the  hands  of  Cruikshank, 
Bell  wattle  and  an  old  drunkard  of  a 
farm-hand,  goes  to  make  this  record  of  the  experi- 
ences of  a  gentleman  farmer. 

They  walked  into  the  offices  of  the  house-agent 
in  Tewkesbury  High  Street  and  asked  the  freckle- 
faced  boy  across  the  counter  whether  they  had 
any  old  houses  on  their  books. 

The  freckle-faced  boy  introduced  them  into 
the  house  and  estate  agent's  private  office  which 
had  had  the  same  papers  on  the  desk,  the  same 
carpet  on  the  floor,  the  same  pictures  and  estate 
maps  on  the  walls  since  the  business  was  estab- 
lished in  1771. 

The  house  agent  himself  came  forward  with 
the  same  courteous  manner  that  his  great-great- 

17 


grandfather  had  shown  when  one  hundred  and 
forty  years  before  he  was  doubtless  considered  to 
be  the  most  go-ahead  and  businesslike  man  in 
Tewkesbury. 

To  Cruikshank  and  Bellwattle  this  atmosphere 
had  as  good  as  sold  them  the  house  before  they 
had  seen  it.  When  they  had  heard  it  was  half- 
timbered,  that  it  had  been  standing  there  in  the 
midst  of  its  little  village  two  miles  out  of  Tewkes- 
bury at  the  time  of  the  famous  battle,  that  it  had 
an  oak-panelled  hall  with  an  Elizabethan  mantel- 
piece and  staircase,  together  with  a  Queen  Anne 
panelled  dining-room,  they  seized  the  order-to- 
view  as  though  it  had  been  a  free  pass  into  Para- 
dise, and  went  there  with  fear  at  their  heels  that 
half  the  world  might  get  there  and  take  it  before 
them. 

They  read  the  prospectus  as  they  went  along. 
It  spoke  of  mullioned  windows,  of  a  quaint  old 
belfry,  the  bell  of  which  was  intended  to  summon 
the  farm-hands  to  their  meals  out  of  the  hayfields. 
It  hinted  at  a  beautiful  kitchen-garden  with  box- 
edging  a  good  foot  thick. 

"A  great  harbour  for  slugs,"  said  Cruikshank 
deprecatingly,  though  he  was  even  more  prepared 
to  like  the  place  than  she. 

"Surely  slugs  wouldn't  prevent  you  from  taking 
18 


"It's  funny  to  think  we 

shall  be  living  here  for 

the  rest  of  our  lives." 


&>I)eep*iun0  anU  ©rep 

a  lovely  old  house  if  you  could  get  it, "  Bellwattle 
replied  with  some  annoyance.  She  always  bridled 
readily  at  this  matter-of-fact  spirit  in  Cruikshank, 
and  had  never  learnt  that  he  was  about  as  matter- 
of-fact  as  a  minor  poet. 

"We  shall  know  the  minute  we  see  it, "  said  she; 
"we  shall  know  whether  we're  going  to  live  there. 
It  can't  be  as  good  as  this  thing  says — they  never 
are." 

But  apparently  it  was.  Before  they  had  so 
much  as  entered  the  front  door,  Bellwattle  was 
squeezing  his  arm,  and  Cruikshank,  in  the  most 
casual  voice  he  could  command,  was  saying,  "It's 
funny  to  think  we  shall  be  living  here  for  the  rest 
of  our  lives." 

For  there  it  was,  about  as  perfect  an  example  as 
you  could  get  of  the  very  earliest  black  and  white, 
half-timbered  manor  house,  standing  just  off  the 
road  that  ran  through  the  little  village  of  Leming- 
ton.  The  roof  was  green  with  moss.  The  diamond- 
paned  windows  looked  with  wise  eyes  at  the  world 
which  stretched  before  them  in  open  meadows  to 
the  far  crest  of  Bredon  Hill. 

Regarding  that  view  and  while  they  waited  for 
the  bell  to  be  answered,  Cruikshank  whispered — 

"In  summertime  on  Bredon 
The  bells  they  sound  so  clear; 

20 


i&uping  a 

Round  both  the  shires  they  ring  them 

In  steeples  far  and  near 
A  happy  noise  to  hear." 


"We'll  have  all  the  windows  open,"  said  Bell- 
wattle,  "and  they'll  come  jangling  down  the 
valley " 

She  had  no  time  to  finish  her  sentence.  The  door 
opened,  and  they  were  admitted  to  the  oak-panelled 
hall  with  its  slab- 
stone  floor. 

If  there  were 
not  such  things 
as  drains,  water 
supplies  and  kit- 
chen ranges,  this 
without  doubt 
would  be  the 
way  to  take  a 
house — much  as 
a  lover  takes  his 
mistress,  there 
and  then,  when 
his  heart  is  burst- 
ing, and  she 
waits  wondering 

and  expectant  On          A  quaint  old  belfry,  the  bell  of  which  was  intended 
to  summon  the  farm  hands  to  their  meals. 

the  verge  of  life. 

21 


anb 

So  far  as  Bellwattle  and  Cruikshank  were  con- 
cerned, none  of  these  things  existed.  They  realised 
no  defective  drains  till,  in  a  manner  of  speaking, 
they  noticed  them.  They  knew  nothing  of  water 
supplies  till  they  found  the  tap  in  the  bathroom 
would  not  respond  to  their  persuasions.  As  for  a 
kitchen  range,  they  always  asked  the  woman  or 
gardener  who  showed  them  round  whether  it  was 
a  good  one  and  the  woman  or  gardener,  as  was 
their  duty,  saying  it  was  the  very  best,  they  felt 
no  more  in  heaven  or  on  earth  could  well  be  done. 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  back  in  the  car, 
racing  along  the  Gloucester  Road  to  Tewkesbury, 
at  the  rate  of  forty  miles  an  hour.  Within  another 
thirty  minutes  they  were  leaving  the  house-agent's 
office,  the  purchasers  of  Lemington  Court  in  all 
but  the  formality  of  signing  the  contract. 

Consistent  with  the  well-balanced  and  material 
view  of  life,  it  must  be  admitted  this  is  no  way 
to  purchase  a  house.  With  any  commonsense 
about  him,  a  man  will  employ  an  architect  to 
examine  the  roof,  to  report  upon  the  main  struc- 
ture. He  will  summon  some  sort  of  specialist  in 
such  matters  to  give  his  opinion  about  the  drains. 
He  will  make  enquiries  about  the  condition  of  the 
soil,  the  health  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  kind 
of  people  in  the  parish. 

22 


Duping  a 

A  man  of  commonsense  will  choose  his  wife  in 
the  same  way,  making  sure  of  her  health,  the 
quality  of  her  antecedents,  the  full  substance  of 
her  fortune  if  she  has  any,  and  her  abilities  as  a 
housewife,  how  much  she  knows  about  the  man- 
agement of  household  affairs.  Undoubtedly  this 
is  the  way  to  select  a  wife. 

To  one,  however,  with  blood  in  his  veins  and 
a  heart  beneath  his  waistcoat,  it  is  not  the  way 
to  live. 

"We  haven't  had  the  drains  examined,"  said 
Cruikshank.  "We  never  asked  whether  the  well 
ever  runs  dry.  That's  the  only  water  supply. 
We  don't  know  whether  that  roof's  in  good  condi- 
tion. It's  Cotswold  stone  you  know,  and  they're 
as  heavy  as  the  deuce.  Do  you  remember  that 
sort  of  buttress,  that  wooden  prop  on  the  right- 
hand  side  near  the  waterbutt.  That  must  have 
been  put  there  to  keep  up  that  wall.  There  was  a 
big  crack  in  it  by  the  timber-work.  How  do  we 
know  that  part  of  the  house  won't  fall  down?" 

"How  old  is  it?"  asked  Bell  wattle. 

"Well,  it  must  be  well  over  four  hundred  years. 
They  say  it's  been  in  one  family  as  long  as  that. " 

"In  one  family  for  over  four  hundred  years," 
echoed  Bellwattle.  "Isn't  that  good  enough 
for  you  ?  That's  better  than  any  architect's  report. 

23 


&>f)cep*kin*  anb 

You  like  it,  don't  you?  I  mean  really  like  it — 
love  it?  Isn't  it  nicer  than  any  place  we've  ever 
seen?" 

"Oh — yes,  it's  all  that,"  said  Cruikshank, 
"and  that  apple-orchard's  ripping — so's  the  gar- 
den. The  garden's  corking.  I've  never  seen  box- 
edging  like  that.  It  must  be  well  over  a  hundred 
years  old.  And  did  you  hear  the  agent  telling  me 
that  the  garden's  full  of  bulbs?  In  February  I 
believe,  so  that  old  gardener  said,  it's  a  regular 
drift  of  snowdrops. " 

"Did  he  say— drift?"  asked  Bellwattle. 

"No,  that's  what  I  see  it  from  what  he  said. " 

She  took  his  hand  in  Tewkesbury  High  Street, 
and  she  squeezed  it.  You  have  to  be  in  love  with 
snowdrops  to  think  of  a  word  like  that.  It  was 
just  knowing  that  he  was  in  love  with  snowdrops, 
with  Lemington  Court,  but  most  of  all  with  life 
that  made  her  squeeze  his  hand. 

For  Life  after  all  is  a  man's  first  mistress,  and 
if  he  does  not  tire  of  her — as  so  many  do  who 
approach  her  with  an  inspector  of  drains  at  their 
elbows — there  is  some  hope  for  him  in  the  heart 
of  the  woman  he  has  taken  to  wife. 

Bellwattle  and  Cruikshank  cut  their  visit  to 
London  and  went  straight  back  to  Ireland  to 
dispose  of  their  eighteen-year  lease. 

24 


Chapter  IV 
SELLING  A  HOUSE 


'  There  was  a  damp  patch 
in  one  of  the  bedrooms." 


CHAPTER  IV 


SELLING   A   HOUSE 

ROM  all  I  can  understand,  that 
is  from  various  accounts  given 
to  me  first  by  Cruikshank,  then 
by   Bellwattle,    no    less    than 
from  little  remarks  which  have 
fallen  between   them   in   con- 
versation,   and    are    indelibly    recorded    on    my 
memory,  the  sale  of  that  lease  was,  as  Cruikshank 
said — a  bit  of  a  business. 

To  begin  with,  he  had  spent  money  on  the  place. 
He  spent  money  on  every  place  he  went  to. 
When  it  is  your  first  belief  about  a  house  that  you 
are  going  to  pass  the  rest  of  your  life  there,  every 
justification  is  to  your  hand  for  a  little  capital 
outlay. 

He  had  spent  at  least  a  thousand  pounds. 
"Well,  I've  got  it  ridiculously  cheap,"  he  had 
argued  at  that  time — "Sixty-five  pounds  a  year 
rent  for  twenty-one  years.     I  shan't  ever  want 

27 


g>f)ecpstuns  anil  <£rep 

to  let  it,  but  if  I  did,  I  could  easily  get  a  hundred 
and  sixty.    That'll  pay  me  back  with  interest. " 

These  calculations  solve  themselves  on  paper 
with  an  ease  that  savours  of  real  magic  in  its 
astounding  simplicity.  With  Cruikshank  working 
out  the  additions  and  subtractions,  Bellwattle 
could  assist  him  in  comfort  with  the  fingers  of  one 
hand.  It  was  all  as  plain  as  daylight.  They 
might  take  their  profit  magnificently  in  the  form 
of  a  premium,  or  they  might  accept  the  whole 
affair  in  an  economical  spirit  as  an  investment, 
yielding  somewhere  in  the  region  of  ten  per  cent. 

"I  may  not  be  a  business  man  in  ordinary 
things,"  Cruikshank  said,  "but  I've  got  an  eye 
for  an  attractive  place,  that's  what  it  amounts  to. " 

All  this  self-assurance  had  been  engendered  in 
Cruikshank,  because  he  had  a  flat  in  London, 
and  once  let  it  furnished  for  eight  months  at  a 
nett  profit  of  five  guineas  a  week.  Nothing  could 
dissuade  him  then  from  the  belief  that  he  had  a 
genius  for  that  sort  of  thing. 

"If  I  liked  to  make  a  business  of  it, "  he  said  to 
me  on  one  occasion,  "I  could  earn  a  comfortable 
income,"  and  seeing  it  would  have  suited  Bell- 
wattle's  passion  to  possess  half,  if  not  all  the  old 
houses  in  England,  I  believe  she  would  have  let 
him  do  it. 

28 


Celling  a 

The  sale  of  the  lease  in  Ireland  must  have  been 
a  sore  blow  to  him.  He  lost  money.  There  was 
no  doubt  people  liked  the  place,  but  as  is  the  way 
with  all  those  tenants  who  travel  with  a  sanitary 
inspector  at  their  elbows,  they  thought  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  premium  was  a  mighty  sum  of 
money.  When  also  they  heard  the  rent  he  was 
paying  was  only  sixty-five  pounds  a  year  (a  quix- 
otic thing  to  have  told  them),  and  that  he  was 
asking  one  hundred  and  sixty,  they  felt  injured  at 
being  thus  forcibly  deprived  of  so  charming  a  place. 

For  it  is  the  psychological  attitude  of  mind 
of  the  prospective  tenant  that  if  a  dwelling  place 
is  put  on  the  market,  it  is  something  in  the  nature 
of  an  insult  if  not  of  an  iniquity  to  be  asked  to 
pay  for  it  more  than  they  want  to  give.  If  the 
owner,  asking  a  premium,  assures  them,  with 
proof  of  receipts  that  he  spent  so  much  in  altera- 
tions and  decorations,  they  regard  him  as  that 
fool  who  builds  houses  for  wise  men  to  live  in,  and 
for  his  folly  must  reap  the  consequences. 

Nothing,  apparently,  would  induce  any  of  the 
people  who  came  to  see  it,  to  pay  the  premium 
that  Cruikshank  was  asking  for  his  house  in  Ireland. 
And  then,  before  he  had  sold  the  lease,  even  with- 
out profit  at  all,  he  did  a  foolish  and  preposterous 
thing.  It  convinced  me,  when  he  told  me  of  it, 

29 


&>f)eep*ktn*  anb  <Srcp 

that  he  had  no  more  flair  than  a  farthing  dip  for 
making  money  over  houses.  He  signed  the  agree- 
ment for  the  purchase  of  Lemington  Court. 

When  I  heard  he  had  done  that,  I  turned  in 
despair  to  Bellwattle. 

"Why  on  earth  did  you  let  him  do  it?"  I  asked. 

"Well — we  wanted  it,"  said  she,  and  it  was  so 
easy  to  realise  by  the  plaintive  tone  in  her  voice 
how  it  had  come  about.  No  man  can  refuse  a 
woman  who  asks  like  that,  especially  when  he  is 
so  much  in  need  of  the  thing  himself. 

As  a  result  of  that  transaction,  it  did  not  sur- 
prise me  to  hear  how  much  more  difficult  had 
become  the  selling  of  the  lease  in  Ireland.  It 
seems  you  can  only  dispose  of  a  thing  with  advan- 
tage when  you  are  in  two  minds  whether  to  part 
with  it  or  not.  Perhaps  it  is  your  manner,  doubt- 
less it  is  what  is  in  your  mind  which  makes  you 
a  good  salesman.  You  praise  the  thing  because 
you  have  a  hankering  after  it  yourself.  You 
offer  it  for  purchase,  because  you  don't  want  to 
keep  it.  You  put  a  big  price  on  it,  because  you 
don't  want  to  let  it  go.  There  is  no  situation 
intrigues  a  would-be  purchaser  more  than  this. 
He  almost  becomes  eager  to  prove  to  you  that  your 
soul  is  not  above  money. 

I  have  know  an  antique  dealer  bring  this  mental 
30 


Celling  a  3&ou*e 

condition  to  such  a  fine  art,  that  he  had  only  to  put 
a  thing  an  arm's  length  out  of  a  customer's  reach, 
and  it  was  as  good  as  sold  for  a  handsome  profit. 

It  was  plain  to  see  how,  once  he  had  bought 
Lemington  Court,  Cruikshank  was  passionately 
concerned  to  part  with  his  lease  in  Ireland.  And 
it  must  indubitably  have  come  out  in  his  manner 
as  a  salesman.  Plenty  of  purchasers  came,  but 
by  the  time  Cruikshank  had  shown  them  round 
and  told  them  the  price  of  the  premium,  they 
unaccountably  lost  interest  and  went  away.  He 
was  too  eager  to  sell. 

There  was  a  damp  patch  in  one  of  the  bedrooms. 
It  came  from  a  slight  leak  under  the  eaves.  At 
first  he  had  taken  no  trouble  to  conceal  it. 

"If  people  like  the  place,"  he  had  said,  with 
a  degree  of  confidence,  "they'll  take  it.  A  damp 
patch  that  means  nothing  won't  put  'em  off." 

But  he  changed  his  tone  once  he  had  purchased 
Lemington  Court.  At  the  last,  when  he  sold  his 
lease  for  a  premium  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  to 
two  old  spinster  ladies,  he  was  compelled  to  move 
a  piece  of  furniture  to  cover  the  patch  on  the  wall. 
And  not  only  that,  but  failing  to  cover  it  entirely, 
Bellwattle  had  to  stand  before  the  guilty  place  to 
cover  the  remaining  stain  on  the  wallpaper  whilst 
he  was  showing  them  round. 


anfc 

There  is  no  end  to  the  kind  of  tricks  a  man 
must  be  up  to  in  order  to  sell  a  house  to  advantage. 
And  the  best  of  them  all  is  not  to  want  to  sell  it 
to  anyone.  You  talk  of  motor-car  dealers  and 
horse  dealers  as  though  they  were  the  most  dis- 
honest of  sharks.  But  no  man  wanting  to  sell 
anything  in  this  world  is  honest.  He  may  say 
nothing  in  its  favour  that  is  untrue;  but  he  leaves 
out  the  deuce  of  a  lot  that  is  deprecatory. 

When  I  taxed  Bell  wattle  with  the  doubtful 
honesty  of  Cruikshank's  behaviour  in  this  matter, 
she  had  her  answer,  as  no  doubt  she  always  would. 

"He  lost  money  over  it,"  said  she,  "and  besides, 
they  could  have  moved  the  piece  of  furniture  if 
they  liked." 

"How  about  you,"  said  I,  "they  couldn't  push 
you  out  of  the  way." 

"I  only  happened  to  bejstanding  there,"  she 
replied. 

"A  whole  lot  X|ijpKr  of  thinSs  haP~ 
pen,"  said  I,  "in  a  world  of 

affairs." 


Chapter  V 
COLLECTING  A  CROWD 


jMJIjaiM^^ 

ROYAL  PUNCH  <.'  POG 


"  It  only 
needed  a 
crowd." 


33 


CHAPTER  V 

COLLECTING  A  CROWD 


\HE  purchase  of  the  farm  at- 
tached to  Lemington  Court 
was  a  transaction  into  which 
Cruikshank  was  jockeyed 
by  his  own  sentiments  and 
Bellwattle's  love  of  animals. 
Bellwattle,  as  has  been  explained  elsewhere, 
was  one  of  those  women  whose  maternal  emotions 
find  greater  play  in  the  mothering  of  animals  than 
ever  they  do  in  the  nursing  of  babies.  Such  women 
are  neither  common,  nor  are  they  rare.  From  long 
watching  of  her,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  with 
all  the  modern  and  increasing  regard  for  the  wel- 
fare of  children,  it  is  the  extreme  helplessness  of 
animals  that  makes  its  greater  appeal  to  her.  She 
is  a  mother,  not  so  much,  I  imagine,  because  she 
would  love  to  bring  a  young  thing  into  the  world, 
as  because  she  would  need  to  fight  for  it  tooth  and 
nail  when  once  it  was  there. 
With  all  the  modern  improvements  in  the  care 
35 


&f)eep*ttin*  anb 

of  young  children,  with  mothers  giving  their  babies 
out  to  nurse  rather  than  jeopardise  the  youthful- 
ness  of  their  figures,  there  is  little  tooth  and  nail 
about  the  business  that  is  left.  Women,  so  one 
told  me  recently,  prefer  the  sound  of  the  word 
Glaxo  to  that  of  the  word  suckle.  Which  is  all  a 
sign  of  the  times.  The  old  Anglo-Saxon  words  are 
going  out  of  fashion  with  the  old  Anglo-Saxon 
deeds.  A  word  has  a  precarious  existence  in  any 
language  when  once  the  deed  it  expresses  has 
become  obsolete. 

When  Bellwattle  heard  that  the  mortality 
amongst  calves  in  this  country  was  something  like 
fifty  per  cent.,  there  came  a  look  into  her  eyes  one 
can  only  describe  as  savage. 

"Fifty  out  of  every  hundred!"  said  she,  for  she 
hates  these  business  terms  and  must  always  trans- 
late them  aloud  to  herself.  "Well,  I  think  it's 
shocking !  Children  don't  die  like  that !  I  wouldn't 
let  calves  die  at  that  rate  if  I  had  the  rearing  of 
them!" 

I  am  quite  certain  Cruikshank  must  have  be- 
lieved her  when  she  said  that.  She  would  have 
convinced  me.  And  Bellwattle,  successfully  rear- 
ing calves  must  have  seemed  to  him  half-way 
toward  successful  dairy  farming.  When  then  he 
found  the  farm  buildings  and  the  farmyard  so 

36 


Collecting  a  Crotob 

closely  abutted  on  the  out-houses  of  the  Court, 
that  the  farmer,  so  to  speak,  would  be  for  ever 
on  his  backdoor  step;  when  also  he  learnt  that 
the  farmer  of  the  extraordinary  and  unattractive 
name  of  Sniff  was  leaving  at  the  end  of  the  next 
quarter,  and  that  another,  who  might  have  not 
only  an  unattractive  name  but  an  unattractive  per- 
sonality, would  probably  take  the  place,  he  came 
with  a  rush,  like  a  bull  with  its  head  down,  upon  a 
conception  of  his  life's  purpose. 

Leaping  out  of  bed  one  morning — the  place  and 
time  in  which  he  did  most  of  his  serious  thinking 
for  the  day — he  came  into  Bellwattle's  room. 

"I've  got  an  idea, "  said  he. 

Seeing  that  she  was  practically  asleep  and  dis- 
tantly conscious  that  her  face  was  not  yet  pow- 
dered, Bellwattle  turned  away  and  pulled  the 
bed-clothes  tighter  round  her. 

"I'm  going  to  take  the  farm,"  he  went  on. 

Bellwattle  did  not  turn,  but  there  was  a  cer- 
tain rigidity  about  her  shoulders  under  the  quilt 
which  gave  him  to  know  she  was  preparing  to 
listen. 

"It's  only  a  hundred  and  forty  acres,"  he  con- 
tinued, "and  all  pasture.  Pasture's  easier  to  work 
than  arable." 

"What's  arable?"  enquired  a  voice  that  was 
37 


&>fjeepafetn*  anb 

muffled  with  sleep  and  distant  by  three  blankets 
and  a  sheet. 

Cruikshank  felt  he  was  like  a  Punch  and  Judy 
man  beginning  his  performance  in  an  empty  street. 
It  only  needed  a  crowd.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  it.  The  first  urchin  of  her  mind  had  arrived  and, 
out  of  curiosity  apparently,  was  prepared  to  wait 
and  see  what  happened. 

"Arable,"  said  Cruikshank,  "is  the  land  you 
grow  things  on." 

"Shouldn't  care  for  that,"  said  the  urchin,  and 
was  about  to  turn  away. 

"Pasture's  meadow  land — the  land  you  feed 
animals  on." 

"Get  me  my  powder-puff,"  said  Bell  wattle, 
"it's  in  that  silver  box." 

He  fetched  as  he  was  bid.  There  were  move- 
ments under  the  bed-clothes,  and  then  a  head 
appeared.  The  crowd  was  collecting. 

"Are  you  going  to  rear  calves?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  of  course,  it  must  be  a  dairy  farm,"  Cruik- 
shank informed  her;  "that's  the  way  Sniff  runs  it. 
Dairy  farms  pay  you  know — pay  jolly  well." 

She  did  not  care  about  the  financial  aspect  of 
the  proposal.  I  can  imagine  in  her  vision  just  then, 
there  were  whole  families  of  helpless  animals  look- 
ing to  her  for  food  and  protection. 

38 


Collecting  a  Crotofc 

Telling  me  about  this  little  incident,  at  this 
point  Cruikshank  said,  "I  could  see  her  heart 
sticking  out  of  her  eyes." 

Apparently  she  had  wanted  definite  assurance 
about  the  calves.  Vague  talk  concerning  a  dairy 
farm  was  not  sufficient,  and  making  it  pay  was 
of  no  interest  at  all.  Making  it  pay  meant  selling 
animals,  and  getting  rid  of  anything  to  which  once 
she  had  given  her  heart  was  not  in  Bellwattle's 
conception  of  the  best  in  life.  Her  policy  with 
regard  to  a  prolific  though  favourite  cat  may  be 
remembered.  Even  when  Cruikshank  had  pointed 
out  to  her  the  possibility  in  numbers  over  a  space 
of  three  years  if  she  did  not  drown  the  kittens, 
she  had  not  been  abashed.  And  it  was  with  Bell- 
wattle  that  she  would  always  sooner  put  an  animal 
to  sleep  than  give  it  away  to  an  uncertain  home. 
It  can  be  imagined  then  what  a  violation  of  her 
feelings  the  sale  of  a  beast  would  be. 

I  asked  Cruikshank  if  he  had  not  realised  that 
at  the  time,  to  which  he  replied,  "Yes,  that's  all 
very  well,  but  when  a  man's  embarking  on  an 
enterprise  like  that,  he  can't  think  of  everything. 
She  knew  we  should  have  to  sell  the  beasts  if  we 
were  going  to  make  it  pay,  and  I  told  her  I  was 
looking  on  it  as  an  investment  of  my  capital. " 

Cruikshank's  excursions  into  finance  always  con- 
39 


&>f)eep*fem*  antj 

vinced  me  what  an  artist  he  was.  Yet  I  remember 
his  once  showing  me  some  water  colours  he  had 
painted  when  I  could  not  help  thinking  what  a 
splendid  man  of  business  he  would  have  made. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  neither  of  them  seem  to 
have  thought  about  the  objection  to  selling  their 
beasts.  Cruikshank  was  too  excited  at  the  pros- 
pect of  finding  five  per  cent,  for  his  money  in  that 
hundred  and  forty  acres  which  I  firmly  believe  he 
pictured  as  a  sort  of  glorified  garden,  while  Bell- 
wattle  could  think  of  nothing  but  young  animals 
growing  up  to  sturdy  maturity,  regarding  her  as  a 
kind  of  universal  and  all-understanding  mother  to 
whom  inevitably  they  would  be  brought  in  pain  or 
sickness  for  her  patient  care. 

She  did  not  see  herself,  as  ultimately  I  saw  her, 
spending  a  whole  day  with  some  sort  of  disin- 
fectant, removing  maggots  from  the  fleece  of  an 
emaciated  sheep,  or  occupied  whole  mornings 
with  gloves  on  her  hands,  applying  sulphur  oint- 
ment to  calves  that  were  suffering  from  ringworm. 

But  this  is  anticipating  the  grim  realities  of 
history.  That  morning  when  Cruikshank  came 
in  with  his  idea  to  Bellwattle's  bedroom,  their 
imagination  wandered  in  deep,  green  meadows 
set  down  for  hay  and  in  the  adjoining  fields — prop- 
erty that  was  their  very  own — Cruikshank  saw 

40 


Collecting  a  Crotob 

young  steers  and  heifers  with  glossy  coats  fattening 
rapidly  and  profitably  for  the  market,  while  Bell- 
wattle  beheld  young  lambs  with  overgrown  legs 
and  careering  bodies,  young  calves  she  had  pro- 
tected against  the  devouring  average  of  mortality, 
indeed  everywhere  some  beast  that  would  answer 
to  her  voice  and  be  eager  to  nuzzle  in  her  hand. 

"When  are  you  going  to  get  the  farm?"  she 
asked. 

"Next  March  quarter.  Sniff  goes  out  then. 
But  we've  got  that  orchard  opposite  the  house. 
I'm  going  to  graze  a  cow  there  and  keep  her  in 
that  shed  in  the  corner.  I  shall  get  it  thatched 
and  made  weather-tight.  Then  we've  got  the 
stables,  and  there's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't 
start  rearing  a  few  calves  there  so  that  we  shall 
have  some  stock  to  start  with. " 

"Who's  going  to  rear  the  calves?"  she 
asked. 

"I  don't 
know  —  I 
thought — 
you  might 


She  sat 
bolt  upright 
in  bed. 


I  shall  get  it  thatched  and  made 
•weather-tight. 

41 


&>f)eepgfein0  anlJ 

"I  don't  know  what  to  feed  them  on, "  said  she. 

"Oh,  you'll  learn,"  he  replied. 

With  the  mortality  amongst  calves  standing 
at  fifty  per  cent.,  I  suggested  that  the  calves  would 
not  be  without  some  knowledge  themselves  before 
many  meals  had  gone  by. 

"We  never  lost  a  calf  all  those  three  months 
till  we  took  the  farm  over, "  declared  Cruikshank. 
"She  reared  ten.  Ten  of  the  best. " 

Of  course  some  men  have  luck,  and  others  have 
wives.  In  my  opinion,  Cruikshank  has  both. 


42 


Chapter  VI 

THE 
SHOCK  ABSORBER 


"If  only  the  door  had 
slammed." 


43 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   SHOCK   ABSORBER 

SHALL  not  attempt,  except  as  in- 
troduction to  these  agricultural 
adventures,  to  record  anything 
but  that  to  which  I  was  an 
actual  witness. 

They  were  just  in  possession  of 
the  farm  when  I  came  to  pay  my  visit  to  Leming- 
ton.  By  that  time  they  were  talking  agricultural 
jargon,  referring  to  the  weight  of  pigs  by  the  score 
and  calculating  the  possible  yield  of  hay  to  the 
acre  as  though  they  had  been  at  the  business  all 
their  lives.  I  found  Bellwattle  with  a  fork,  a  spade, 
and  buckets  of  disinfectant,  cleaning  out  an  old 
cart-horse  stable  that  must  have  been  left  to  look 
after  itself  for  years.  She  pushed  the  hair  off  her 
face  and  looked  up  as  my  shadow  fell  across  the 
floor. 

"Hullo,  A.  H.!"  said  she,  "what  do  you  think 
of  this?    Manure's  my  element  now. " 

But  I  am  going  on  too  far.    I  must  first  explain 
45 


anb 

how  I  came  to  be  staying  with  them  at  Lemington 
at  all,  and  staying  with  them  alone.  Clarissa 
had  been  called  back  to  the  West  Indies.  Her 
father  had  contracted  a  fatal  and  lingering  ill- 
ness. There  was  hope  she  might  arrive  in  time 
to  be  with  him,  for  they  spoke  of  the  possibility 
of  his  holding  on  for  some  time.  It  would  have 
been  the  essence  of  selfishness  to  have  refused  the 
pathetic  simplicity  of  his  request.  Again,  there 
was  her  love  of  the  sun.  We  were  scarcely  through 
the  winter.  February !  It  may  fill  the  dykes  with 
water  in  the  country.  It  can  fill  the  heart  with 
gloom  in  town. 

I  could  see  the  half -eager  look  in  her  eyes  when 
she  brought  me  her  father's  letter.  She  knew  I 
could  not  go  and  made  no  request  that  she  should 
go  herself.  All  she  said  was  this : 

"I  can  see  the  room  where  he's  lying.  I'm  so 
glad — it's  full  of  sun." 

I  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  gathering 
fog  that  was  plunging  the  streets  in  a  weight  of 
darkness.  Her  eyes  followed  mine,  and  turning, 
I  found  them  wistfully  and  failingly  trying  to  gaze 
beyond  that  shadow  which,  falling,  be  it  only  in 
your  street,  seems  to  roll  a  mighty  stone  against 
the  very  entrance  to  your  heart. 

It  cannot  quite  have  sealed  the  entrance  to 
46 


"  Manure's  my  element  now." 


47 


anb 

mine,  for  much  as  I  knew  I  should  be  a  lost  soul 
now  without  her,  I  asked  her  would  she  like  to  go. 

She  stared  at  me,  unbelieving  for  a  moment, 
then  suddenly  her  arms  became  tentacles  about  my 
neck,  and  she  was  whispering  those  things  about 
me  every  man  is  content  to  hear,  not  so  much 
because  he  even  half -believes  them  to  be  true,  as 
because  another's  whole-hearted  belief  in  them 
makes  the  world  an  easier  place  to  live  in. 

Thus  it  was  I  was  parted  from  Clarissa  for  a 
while,  and  in  that  time,  with  Moxon  to  look  after 
me,  tried  to  fall  back  upon  the  old  bachelor  habits 
of  former  days  as  though  it  were  a  most  natural 
mode  of  living. 

Let  no  man  think  an  experiment  of  this  nature 
can  be  a  success.  Moxon  gave  notice  twice,  can- 
celling the  first  before  he  had  left  the  room.  The 
second  notice  was  not  cancelled  until  he  had 
reached  the  hall  door,  when,  happening  to  come 
out  of  my  study,  I  saw  him  taking  a  last  look 
round. 

He  fumbled  for  his  bag  directly  he  saw  me,  and 
then,  solely  I  believe  to  force  conversation,  he 
made  as  though  he  had  forgotten  something. 

"I  hope  you'll  give  my  kind  respects  to  Mrs. 
Bellairs,  Sir, "  he  said;  "and  say  I  was  very  reluc- 
tant to  go,  Sir." 

48 


3b  sorbet 

It  was  a  matter  either  of  pushing  him  out  of 
the  door  for  his  unnecessary  servility,  or  shut- 
ting it  in  his  face  for  his  obvious  and  pitiable 
remorse. 

"I'm  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head,  I  suppose," 
said  I. 

"If  I  might  say  so,  Sir,"  he  replied,  "I  think 
you  want  a  change. " 

To  me  that  sounded  confoundedly  impudent, 
and  I  was  just  about  to  walk  away  without  so 
much  as  saying  good-bye  to  the  man.  I  took  the 
first  step  in  that  direction,  and  then  realised  it 
was  confoundedly  true.  But  I  had  no  intention 
of  showing  my  gratitude. 

"I'll  take  a  change,"  said  I,  "and  you  can  go 
upstairs  and  unpack  that  bag." 

Having  made  this  concession  to  his  pride,  I 
walked  through  the  baize  door  in  the  hall  and 
swung  it  back  none  too  gently  after  me. 

He  can  take  it  or  leave  it  at  that,  thought  I  to 
myself,  and  if  the  slam  of  that  door  does  not 
express  to  him  my  feelings  about  the  matter,  he's 
too  thick-skinned  to  waste  any  pity  on. 

The  slam  of  the  door  would  undoubtedly  have 

had  its  effect,  if  only  the  door  had  slammed.    But 

quite  recently  I  had  had  a  shock-absorber  put  on 

the  beastly  thing,  and  in  response  to  my  mood, 

4  49 


anb 

it  closed  to  with  incredible  deliberation,  making 
an  ironic  hissing  sound  as  it  subsided. 

That  made  me  laugh.  I  had  recovered  my  sense 
of  humour,  and  next  to  a  woman  about  the  house, 
there  is  nothing  like  a  sense  of  humour  for  running 
an  establishment  with  success. 

Give  me  laughter  and  I  will  go  through  the  world 
with  peas  in  my  shoes,  never  finding  it  even  so 
much  as  a  pilgrimage.  I  am  sure  they  laughed  on 
their  way  to  Canterbury,  and  if  the  records  of 
Chaucer  do  not  suggest  it,  it  was  because  the  really 
funny  stories  were  unprintable. 


Chapter  VI I 
FITTING  A  MOOD 


"  That  was  a  trenchant 
fancy  of  his,  that  picture 
of  Spring  squeezing 
through  iron  railings." 


CHAPTER  VII 

FITTING  A  MOOD 

'HEN  I  said  I  would  take  a 
change  I  had  neither  Cruik- 
shank  nor  Bellwattle  in  my 
mind.  Visions  of  dreary 
mornings  on  the  parade  at 
Brighton  reluctantly  pre- 
sented themselves  to  me  and  were  dismissed.  I 
could  have  got  some  fishing  in  Scotland.  That 
was  not  without  its  summons.  But  it  was  not 
such  a  change  as  that  I  wanted.  It  was  not  sport. 
There  is  a  mood — common  I  suppose  to  every- 
body— when  I  want  to  gamble,  to  mix  myself  up 
in  affairs  where  there  is  hazard  and  the  sense  of 
adventure.  I  had  thought  of  Monte  Carlo,  but 
that  was  too  literal  a  translation  of  my  needs. 
As  for  a  sense  of  adventure,  in  those  overheated 
rooms,  watching  from  one  hour  to  another  the 
turn  of  a  card  or  the  spin  of  a  ball,  there  is  none. 
Then  came  a  letter  from  Cruikshank  whom  I 
knew  was  in  Gloucestershire,  but  of  whose  affairs, 

53 


fi>fjeep*fem$  auto 

since  he  had  left  Ireland,  I  had  heard  nothing. 
He  asked  me  to  go  to  one  of  those  shops  in  St. 
Martin's  Lane  and  buy  him  a  second-hand  saddle. 
It  was  not  this,  so  much  as  one  paragraph  in  his 
letter  which,  as  I  read  it,  came  with  a  jerk  into  my 
mind.  Here  it  is  and  its  suitability  to  my  mood 
needs  no  comment. 

"I've  bought  the  farm  attached  to  this  place. 
One  hundred  and  forty  acres,  and  as  I  look  out 
across  the  meadows  from  my  bedroom  windows, 
seeing  my  hedges  and  my  trees,  I  feel  as  if  I  owned 
the  whole  of  England.  Farming  is  a  life  for  a  man. 
It's  up  against  Nature  from  one  day  to  the  next — a 
hazard  but  more  than  a  hazard.  It's  a  terrific  enter- 
prise. Sometimes  I  feel  like  Columbus  pointing 
out  into  the  West  with  nothing  but  a  compass  and  a 
stout  heart. 

"Why  don't  you  and  Clarissa  come  down  here 
for  a  bit  and  give  us  a  hand  in  our  adventure? 
Bettwattle,  I  and  a  drunken  old  farm-hand  are 
running  this  dairy  farm,  and  I  have  never  felt  the 
responsibility  of  life  so  acutely  or  so  engagingly 
before.  It  is  the  close  contact  with  the  land  that  does 
it.  When  I  ride  out  every  morning  before  breakfast 
to  have  a  look  round  the  fields,  and  see  that  none  of 
the  cattle  have  strayed  overnight,  then  I  feel  like  Moses 
receiving  the  tablets  of  stone  from  the  hands  of  God, 

54 


fitting  a  ;fltoob 

and  my  fifty  head  of  cattle  become  a  whole  fifty  tribes 
of  Israel  to  me. 

' '  You  can  well  suppose  that  an  occupation  which 
at  one  moment  makes  you  feel  like  Christopher 
Columbus,  and  the  next  like  the  leader  of  the  tribes 
of  Israel,  is  no  idle  business,  and  one  well  worth 
closer  examination.  Come  down  for  a  week,  and  if 
you  don't  like  it,  if  you  prefer  your  grimy  plane 
trees  and  your  unhappy  crocuses  in  the  park,  if  you 
would  rather  your  Spring  came  to  you,  squeezing 
through  iron  railings  than  dancing  down  a  Glouces- 
tershire lane,  there  are  always  trains  back  to  London. 
Bellwattle  is  working  as  she  never  worked  before. 
She  rises  at  half -past  seven  and  feeds  the  calves  as 
the  milk  comes  in.  I  milk.  Oh — /  can  tell  you  we 
are  close  to  the  fount  of  life  here  as  never  before. 

"  Sheepskins  for  our  menfolk' 
"How  is  it  old  Izaak  had  it? 

" '  Grey  russet  for  our  wives, 

Heigh  trollollie  lollie  loe 
Heigh  trollollie  lee. 
'Tis  warmth  and  not  gay  clothing 
That  doth  prolong  our  lives, 
Then  care  away  and  wend  along  with  me. ' " 

What  better  suggestion  could  have  fitted  in 
55 


anU 

with  my  mood  than  that?  I  pondered  over  it  on 
my  way  down  to  St.  Martin's  Lane  and,  by  the 
time  I  had  bought  the  saddle,  had  decided  I  would 
save  the  cost  of  postage  and  take  the  thing  to 
Tewkesbury  myself. 

Cruikshank's  reference  to  grimy  plane  trees  and 
unhappy  crocuses  in  the  park  if,  at  the  moment 
of  reading,  it  had  wrought  me  to  resentment,  yet 
penetrated  deeper  than  I  imagined.  I  walked  down 
the  Row  to  have  a  look  at  them. 

That  was  a  trenchant  fancy  of  his,  that  picture 
of  Spring  squeezing  through  iron  railings.  I  could 
see  little  figures  everywhere  I  looked;  little  figures 
soiling  their  frocks  with  London  soot  and  tearing 
them  as  they  scrambled  between  the  iron  palings, 
all  eager  to  feel  the  touch  of  grass  under  their  feet, 
yet  determined,  with  clear  shouts  of  laughter,  not 
to  be  disappointed. 

Whatever  he  might  say  from  his  pastures,  I 
knew  they  were  not  disappointed.  If  in  London, 
Spring  does  squeeze  through  the  railings  and  the 
grass  is  spare  it  feels  beneath  its  feet,  there  is  space 
for  laughter  in  the  open  places.  However,  the 
more  I  allowed  my  thoughts  to  run  in  defence  of 
my  London  park,  the  more  I  thought  of  Cruik- 
shank  in  his  meadows;  the  more  plainly  did  I  see  a 
creature  with  blowing  hair,  with  apple  cheeks  and 

56 


Jfttttng  a 

clean  print  frock  come  dancing  down  the  lanes  of 
Gloucestershire. 

"Pack  my  things,"  I  said  to  Moxon  that 
evening.  "I'm  going  down  to  Tewkesbury. " 

"I  had  an  aunt  living  in  Tewkesbury,  Sir," 
said  he.  "She  used  to  remark  what  a  change  it 
was  to  London." 

By  which  I  understood  that  Moxon  approved 
of  my  decision  since  it  was  bringing  me  the  dose 
he  felt  I  needed. 

"You  might  take  a  fortnight's  holiday  your- 
self, "  said  I,  for  if  there  were  any  medicine  to  be 
taken,  I  was  still  of  a  mood  and  determined  he 
should  share  the  bottle  with  me. 

He  accepted  my  generosity  in  the  spirit  that 
it  was  meant;  that  is  to  say  he  made  no  further 
reference  to  his  aunt. 


57 


Chapter  VIII 
MANURIAL  VALUES 


"  /  begin  to  feel  it's  in- 
cumbent upon  me  to  be 
buried  on  my  own  J  arm." 


59 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MANURIAL   VALUES 

HAVE  already  described  how  Bell- 
wattle  was  cleaning  out  a  cart- 
horse stable  when  I  arrived. 

"Cruikshank's  down  in  the 
crooked  withy  meadow,"  said  she, 
and  began  taking  off  her  gloves. 
"The  crooked  what?"  I  asked  her. 
"The  crooked  withy  meadow.  It's  right  down 
at  the  other  end  of  the  farm.  It's  all  twisty  and 
turny,  that's  why  it's  called  crooked.  Then 
there's  a  stream  runs  through  it,  and  there  are 
willows  all  along  the  banks.  They  call  willows — 
withies — here.  But  then  all  the  fields  are  named. 
They've  been  named  for  hundreds  of  years.  We 
tread  on  history,  you  see,  wherever  we  walk. 
There's  an  oak  beam  in  that  barn  with  the  date 
1651  on  it.  One  of  the  diamond  panes  in  the 
window  in  the  hall  has  a  name  cut  on  with  a  dia- 
mond, and  the  date  1618.  Can't  you  feel  people 
everywhere?  lean." 

61 


£>f)eep*iung  anb 

I  glanced  at  her  hands,  begrimed  even  through 
the  gloves,  and  I  made  a  feeble  joke. 

"Aren't  you  losing  your  sense  of  touch  with 
that  sort  of  work?"  I  asked. 

I  knew  it  was  a  feeble  joke  because  she  took 
me  quite  seriously,  and  told  me  how  filthy  the 
stable  had  been  before  she  tackled  it. 

They  had  only  been  in  formal  possession  of 
the  farm  for  a  week  or  two  at  the  time  of  my 
arrival,  and  were  still  in  the  midst  of  the  process 
of  clearing  up  after  Sniff.  That  stable  had  to  be 
cleaned,  she  said,  before  any  animal  could  be 
invited  to  live  in  it. 

"It     hasn't,"     she     said, 
"been  cleaned  for  years." 

I    suggested    that    other 
horses  had  lived  there  ap- 
parently  with   suc- 
cess. 

"Well,  my  horses 
aren't  going  to,  "  she 
retorted,  and  I  was 
irresistibly  reminded 
of  big  Claus  and 
little  Claus,  only 
that  her  vanity  was 
the  vanity  of  a  big 


Jftanurial 

heart,  whilst  the  vanity  of  little  Claus  was  purely 
that  of  a  modern  tradesman  with  a  big  purse. 

She  gave  me  a  well-manured  fork  to  carry  in  one 
hand  and  a  bucket  of  disinfectant  in  the  other. 

"Let's  come  and  have  tea,"  she  suggested, 
and  with  the  enthusiasm  of  one  who  by  her  labours 
has.  earned  for  herself  a  hearty  appetite. 

Through  a  large,  cool  dairy  and  a  lofty  scullery 
where  everything  was  whitewashed  even  to  the 
beams,  I  followed  her,  ruminating,  to  a  cheerful 
meal  set  out  in  the  kitchen. 

This  was  the  first  introduction  of  my  mind 
to  the  life  of  farming.  I  had  already  received 
a  new  conception — a  new  conception  of  dirt.  For 


Bellwattle,  who  is  as  daintily-minded  as  you  must 
expect  any  woman  to  be,  to  turn  thus  directly  and 
enthusiastically  to  thoughts  of  tea  from  the 
cleaning  out  of  manure  in  a  cart-horse  stable,  was 
a  revelation  to  me. 

"Do  you  really  feel  an  appetite  after  that  job?" 
I  asked. 

In  the  act  of  washing  her  hands  under  a  tap 
in  the  scullery,  she  turned  to  me  with  wide  surprise. 

"Why  not?"  she  exclaimed;  "It's  quite  clean 
dirt." 

Then  I  began  to  realise  what  Cruikshank  meant 
in  his  letter  when  he  said,  "It's  the  close  contact 
with  the  land  that  does  it."  Indeed,  as  he  ex- 
plained to  me  that  evening  while  we  sat  talking 
over  a  fire  blazing  with  logs  of  apple  wood,  you 
come  to  regard  life  in  its  true  elements  when 
once  you  take  to  farming. 

"Everything,"  said  he,  "has  its  manurial 
value.  The  man  who  starves  his  cattle  starves 
his  land.  I  begin  to  feel  it's  incumbent  upon  me 
to  be  buried  on  my  own  farm  in  order  to  justify 
my  existence  to  the  last.  We  must  give  back  to 
the  land.  Beasts  and  men,  we  must  all  give  back. 
These  crematoria  seem  to  me  now  to  be  just  typi- 
cal of  the  increasing  selfishness  of  the  age.  No  one 
gives  back.  We  all  take  and  take  and  take  from 

64 


iflamtrtal 

the  soil,  and  when  our  hands  touch  it,  we  call  it 
dirt.  This  horror  of  being  buried  in  unsanctified 
ground  is  no  more  than  a  commentary  upon  the 
trade  that  has  crept  into  the  spirit  of  the  church. 
What's  it  matter  if  the  blade  of  a  plough  does  drive 
through  your  skull  a  hundred  years  hence  ?  You'll 
have  done  more  for  the  land  that  bred  you  than 
by  keeping  your  ashes  in  a  crematorial  urn. " 

This  was  quite  typical  of  Cruikshank's  ex- 
travagance of  speech.  In  such  a  strain  as  this  he 
used  to  talk  of  his  garden  in  Ireland.  I  neverthe- 
less had  my  first  glimmering  of  the  truth  of  what 
he  said  when,  that  afternoon,  Bellwattle  sat  down 
with  me  to  tea  in  the  kitchen. 

It  was  a  wonderful  room,  that  kitchen;  low- 
ceilinged,  with  great,  massive  oak  beams  running 
across  it,  with  strange,  unexpected  cupboards 
and  uneven  stone-paved  floor,  with  diamond- 
paned  mullioned  windows  looking  over  the  garden 
on  one  side  and  across  the  yard  at  the  other. 

Many  were  the  meals  I  had  in  that  kitchen 
before  I  returned  to  London.  There  was  there 
indeed,  as  Bellwattle  had  said,  the  feeling  of 
people  everywhere;  of  all  the  farm-hands  that 
had  come  and  gone  in  the  centuries  during  which 
it  had  provided  meals  for  eager  appetites;  no  less 
than  the  talk  that  had  passed  over  the  wood  fires 
5  65 


anfc  <P>rep 

in  the  open  grate  that  now  was  filled  in  with  a 
kitchen  range. 

Hooks  were  still  embedded  in  the  beams  where 
the  flitches  of  bacon  once  had  hung.  There  was 
still  the  rack  over  the  fireplace  on  which  the 
farmer's  gun  had  rested.  From  some  antique 
dealer's,  Cruikshank  had  brought  an  old  elm 
high-backed  settle  that  stood  with  a  wide  curve 
by  the  fire,  and  made  a  little  room  in  itself  of  the 
space  of  which  once  was  around  the  chimney 
corner. 

It  was  at  that  tea  I  first  tasted  their  butter, 
their  cream  and  their  eggs. 

I  need  no  better  surroundings  than  this  to  feel 
myself  at  ease  with  all  the  world.  A  Hepplewhite 
chair  of  the  finest  design  may  bring  back  the  flower 
of  the  Georgian  period,  but  a  high-backed  settle 
by  a  kitchen  fire  savours  of  the  good  old  oak. 

"You'd  better  have  eggs,"  said  Bell  wattle; 
"You  won't  get  anything  more  till  after  eight. " 

I  said  I  would  have  one,  and  there  being  an 
unlimited  supply  apparently,  when  that  was  fin- 
ished, I  had  another.  We  ate  bread  they  had 
baked,  and  cakes  their  woman  had  made.  I  call 
her  a  woman  with  Bellwattle's  permission.  She 
had  no  desire,  so  Bellwattle  said,  to  be  called  a 
cook.  I  have  seen  her  weeding  in  Cruikshank 's 

66 


\7ataeS 

mangold  patch.  I  have  seen  her  working  in  the 
hayfield.  It  would  obviously  be  ridiculous  to  call 
her  a  cook.  She  was  just  a  woman  in  a  world 
where  men  and  women  it  would  seem  can  afford  to 
be  themselves. 

And  then,  while  I  was  realising  the  incom- 
parability  of  what  is  called  good  wholesome  food, 
Bellwattle  told  me  of  Cruikshank's  visit  to  Tewkes- 
bury  market  when  he  set  out  to  buy  his  first  cow. 


Chapter  IX 

CRUIKSHANK  IN  THE 
MARKET 


"  Cruikshank  set  out  on 

his  first  venture  to  the 

public  market." 


CHAPTER  IX 

CRUIKSHANK  IN   THE  MARKET 

HEN  our  greetings  were  over ; 
when  Cruikshank  had  con- 
jured the  disappearance  of 
three  large  cups  of  tea  and 
many  thick  slices  of  bread 
and  butter,  talking  agricul- 
tural jargon  all  the  time,  I  was  told  the  story  of 
the  purchase  of  their  first  beast — the  first  cow — the 
first  contribution  towards  that  ideal  herd  of  which 
Cruikshank  had  visions  in  his  heart  as  being  the 
best  in  the  country-side. 

It  was  told  in  all  seriousness  by  Cruikshank, 
who,  when  anything  amusing  happened  to  him  in 
the  midst  of  the  vital  affairs  of  life,  needed  a 
considerable  passage  of  time  before  he  saw  the 
humour  of  it. 

It  is  possible  that  when  at  length  he  did  appre- 
ciate the  funny  side  of  it,  he  really  saw  more  fun 
than  anyone  else.  It  is  even  possible  he  may  have 
realised  it  at  the  moment,  but  the  sweat  of  reality 


anb  <Srep 

was  too  heavily  on  his  brow  when  he  was  occupied 
with  the  intensity  of  life  to  allow  him  ease  for 
laughter. 

Bellwattle  on  the  other  hand  needs  no  more 
than  half  an  eye  for  the  humour  of  all  that  happens 
in  a  comical  existence.  She  has  all  the  old-world 
comedian's  sense  of  the  ridiculousness  of  a  situa- 
tion, and  could  sit  by  accident  on  a  new  hat  or 
spoil  a  new  frock  by  some  contortionate  mishap 
on  a  muddy  day,  provoking  herself  thereby  to 
shouts  of  the  most  wholehearted  laughter  I  have 
ever  heard. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  comment  upon  the 
invaluable  quality  of  such  a  mind  as  this.  I  have 
known  it  save  a  thousand  situations  from  ap- 
proaching tragedy.  In  an  impending  breach  of 
their  happiness,  I  have  seen  Cruikshank  take  out 
his  handkerchief  to  wipe  the  sweat  of  reality  from 
his  forehead,  and  have  my  own  suspicions  that 
the  movement  was  as  much  to  conceal  a  laugh. 

At  the  conclusion  of  a  row  between  husband 
and  wife,  the  man  never  laughs.  It  has  been  too 
serious  a  business.  He  may  come  across  to  his  wife 
saying,  "Poor  old  thing, "  as  he  kisses  her  on  the 
back  of  her  neck.  But  that  is  all.  I  doubt  if  the 
gods  themselves  have  that  sharpness  of  sight  to 
witness  the  smile  which  trickles  down  inside  her 

72 


m  tfjr 

blouse.  Possibly  she  feels  it  on  the  bare  skin  of 
her  shoulders ;  but  a  wise  woman  vouchsafes  none 
of  these  secrets  to  any  but  herself. 

The  cow,  however.  He  bought  it  in  Tewkes- 
bury  market.  It  was  during  that  period  of 
interregnum,  between  their  first  occupation  of 
Lemington  Court  and  the  appropriation  of  the 
farm  that  Cruikshank  had  decided  to  begin  dairy 
farming  in  a  small  way. 

As  soon  as  that  thatching  of  the  shed  in  their 
orchard  was  completed,  as  soon  as  skimming 
pans,  churn  and  rolling-board  were  purchased 
and  placed  in  readiness  in  that  cool  and  spotless 
dairy  Cruikshank  set  out  on  his  first  venture  to 
the  public  market. 

I  have  a  vivid  picture  of  that  occasion  in  my 
mind.  From  what  they  told  me  that  afternoon, 
I  can  fancy  him,  armed  with  his  blackthorn  stick 
and  in  his  oldest  clothes,  seeing  himself  with  in- 
tense seriousness  and  feeling  he  was  about  to  take 
a  momentous  step  in  his  life. 

He  departed  with  the  good  wishes  of  the  whole 
household.  Even  their  woman  I  think,  together 
with  Puddimore,  the  old  and  bibulous  farm-hand, 
came  out  to  see  him  ofl.  Bellwattle  stood  in  the 
road  and  waved  her  hand  to  him,  and  once  or 
twice  he  turned,  when,  with  a  certain  amount  of 

73 


anb 

condescension,  he  waved  back  to  her,  as  though 
he  were  thinking  to  himself — "Poor  little  woman, 
she's  quite  excited  about  it — "  And  really  there 
was  no  one  more  excited  in  the  whole  of  Glouces- 
tershire that  morning  than  he. 

"I'm  going  into  the  market  this  morning  to 
buy  a  cow, "  he  said  to  the  first  person  he  knew. 

"I'm  going  to  start  my  own  dairy  for  the  house 
before  I  take  over  the  farm, "  he  said  to  the  next; 
"As  a  matter-of-fact,  I'm  going  into  the  market 
to  buy  a  cow. " 

"Is  it  wise,"  I  inquired,  when  I  heard  of  this 
childlike  frankness  on  his  part — "Is  it  wise  to  let 
everyone  know  of  your  intentions  when  you  are 
going  into  the  public  market?" 

He  looked  at  me  sharply  as  one  who  admires 
another  for  his  unexpected  sagacity. 

"You're  a  shrewd  fella,  A.  H.,"  said  he.  "I 
was  a  damned  fool,  but  not  such  a  fool  as  I  seemed 
to  them.  I'd  been  studying  the  prices  pretty 
closely,  and  I  knew  what  I  was  going  to  give  to 
a  penny  for  a  good  milch  cow  with  calf.  They 
might  try,  as  indeed  they  did,  but  they  couldn't 
put  me  up  a  farthing  beyond  that." 

The  only  question  as  far  as  I  could  see,  was 
whether  he  knew  a  good  milch  cow  from  a  bad 
one.  It  seemed  a  serious  matter  to  me  in  a  pur- 

74 


Cruifesfjank  fit  tfje  iflarket 

chase  of  this  nature.    Very  tentatively,  I  inquired 
where  he  had  got  his  experience. 

"He'd  none,"  said  Bellwattle. 

"I  don't  know  about  none,"  Cruikshank  re- 
torted. "I'd  seen  a  bit  of  farming  in  Ireland. " 

"You  know  you  hadn't  seen  any  worth  speak- 
ing about,"  insisted  Bellwattle.  "You  believe 
in  the  flair  for  a  thing.  I  remember  your  saying 
it  at  the  time.  You  believe  in  the  flair,  just  as 
you  do  about  houses  and  furniture. " 

"Can  you  have  &  flair  about  a  cow? "  I  inquired. 

"Cruikshank, "  said  she,  "can  have  &  flair  about 
anything." 

We  left  the  matter  of  experience  at  that,  for 
Cruikshank  apparently  was  satisfied  with  this 
exposure  of  his  methods.  Apparently  when  a  man 
has  a  flair,  his  prime  flair  is  for  himself.  On  the 
face  of  it,  it  sounds  conceited  and  objectionable, 
but  I  have  always  found  it  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful and  ingenuous  traits  in  the  character  of  Cruik- 
shank, and  would  not  disturb  it  for  the  world. 
By  the  tone  in  her  voice  as  she  spoke  of  it,  I  am 
sure  Bellwattle  is  of  this  same  opinion  too. 

He  was  quite  ready  to  realise  he  had  been  some- 
what of  a  fool  in  the  generosity  of  his  confidence, 
but  apparently  he  did  his  best  to  make  up  for  it. 
He  was  intensely  secretive  about  his  bidding. 

75 


anfe 

Before  the  market  opened,  he  button-holed 
the  agent  who  was  also  one  of  the  auctioneers  in 
the  Tewkesbury  market  and  gave  him  implicit  in- 
structions as  to  how  he  was  going  to  make  his  bids. 

"When  you  see  me  scratch  the  side  of  my 
nose,"  Cruikshank  had  told  him — and  he  gave  a 
graphic  illustration  of  the  movement — "take 
that  as  a  bid.  I  know  all  these  fellows  think  that 
when  a  chap  like  myself  takes  to  farming  he's  a 
hopeless  mug,  and  deserves  to  be  fleeced  at  every 
possible  opportunity. " 

In  this,  I  have  no  doubt,  Cruikshank  was  quite 
right.  A  gentleman  farmer  and  an  amateur  at 
that  must  run  the  gauntlet.  He  is  like  a  bone- 
setter,  setting  up  in  practice  in  Harley  Street,  and 
must  take  all  he  gets  from  the  legitimate  profession. 

The  only  credentials  acceptable  on  the  land 
are  to  be  found  in  the  parish  churchyard.  If  you 
can  point  to  the  gravestones  of  three  generations 
standing  up  proudly  in  the  green  grass,  there  is 
respect  for  you.  Farming  is,  or  was,  a  conservative 
business.  The  land,  indeed,  bred  a  whole  nation 
of  conservatives  in  the  good  old  days.  But  trade 
and  machinery  have  altered  all  that. 

Machinery  gives  nothing  back.  It  consumes. 
In  this  respect  the  conservatives  were  always 
more  liberal  than  their  political  opponents.  At 

76 


Crwfesfjanfe  in  tfjc 

least  they  gave  back  to  the  land  what  they  took 
out  of  it.  A  dealer  does  not  feed  his  beasts.  He 
sells  them.  Thus  he  takes  his  profit  from  the  land, 
but  the  devil  a  bit  does  he  give  back.  It  is  all  a 
question  of  what  Cruikshank  would  call  manurial 
values.  If  England  is  stale — though  God  forbid 
it — it  is  because  civilisation  has  turned  to  selfish- 
ness, because  the  farmer  has  turned  dealer  and 
become  a  liberal,  and  the  whole  land  is  starved. 

Quite  conscious  of  this  lack  of  credentials  of 
the  land,  Cruikshank  took  cunning  precautions 
against  the  inevitable  penalties.  I  don't  know 
what  the  auctioneer  must  have  thought  of  him 
behind  a  benign  exterior.  By  all  accounts  he  was 
genuinely  sympathetic.  Cruikshank  scratched 
his  nose  three  times  in  separate  pantomime  lest 
there  might  be  any  mistake  about  it,  and  then  he 
went  into  the  market,  forearmed  against  every  con- 
ceivable trick  that  might  be  played  upon  him.  As, 
however,  he  had  told  everybody  he  was  going  to  buy 
a  cow,  I  can  quite  understand  the  subsequent  result. 

And  all  this  time,  Bellwattle  was  waiting  with 
eagerness  and  patience  at  home  for  his  return. 

He  went  into  the  market.  I  can  picture  him, 
happy  and  good-natured  with  all  the  world,  having 
a  smile  for  everyone  except  the  dealers. 

Seeing  the  auctioneer's  brother  selling  chickens 
77 


&>f)eep£ffetng  anb 

at  the  far  end  of  the  market,  he  nodded  affably  to 
him  as  he  passed,  and  found  himself  the  possessor 
of  a  crate — not  to  be  taken  away — of  six  emaciated 
blue  Andalusians,  when,  not  liking  to  admit  he  had 
acquired  them  only  by  way  of  "Good-morning," 
they  were  sent  back  to  Lemington  later  in  the  day. 

"The  charge  for  cartage,"  said  he,  "was  quite 
normal.  But  after  that,  I  daren't  look  at  the 
auctioneer,  or  if  I  did,  I  had  to  put  on  a  sort  of 
woebegone  expression,  as  though  I  never  wanted 
to  bid  for  anything  again." 

"And  all  the  time,"  interposed  Bell  wattle, 
"there  was  I  going  out  on  to  the  road  the  moment 
I  heard  the  sound  of  a  cow  mooing,  expecting  to 
see  him  driving  a  huge  beast  in  triumph  down 
the  road." 

"Well — get  on  with  the  story,"  said  I,  for  by 
some  subtle  progression  my  interest  was  increasing. 
I  had  seen  a  look  in  the  depth  of  Bellwattle's 
brown  eyes.  I  knew  the  best  was  yet  to  come. 


Chapter  X 
THE  ULTIMATE  PURCHASE 


"He'd  got  a  box 

under  his  arm — 

a  little  box.1' 


79 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   ULTIMATE   PURCHASE 

HE  news  having  circulated  the 
market    that    Cruikshank  was 
there  with  the  intention  of  buy- 
ing a  cow,  it  appears  there  was 
scarcely  a  farmer  that  day  who 
had  not  got  the  very  cow  he 
wanted,  then  at  the  moment  grazing  in  his  fields. 
One  by  one  they  came  up  to  him  with  the  air 
of   confidential   acquaintance,    though   many   of 
them  he  had  never  seen  before,  offering  to  help 
him  to  the  right  side  of  a  bargain. 

"It  was  as  if,"  said  Cruikshank — "it  was 
as  if  I  were  a  man  in  the  direst  of  dilemmas,  and 
the  world  had  suddenly  become  full  of  philan- 
thropists ready  to  do  me  a  turn.  One  after  another 
they  took  me  by  the  elbow  and  led  me  away 
into  a  corner,  talking  in  undertones  about  this 
amazing  cow  of  theirs  that  gave  anything  from 
three  to  five  gallons  of  milk  a  day,  had  never  had 
more  than  two  calves,  and  for  which  they  had  paid 
6  81 


anb 

nothing  less  than  thirty  pounds,  generally  by 
private  purchase.  One  man  showed  me  a  receipt 
for  thirty-three  pounds,  and  when  I  told  him  it 
was  not  substantial  evidence  he  had  paid  it  for 
the  cow  he  wanted  to  sell  me,  he  looked  at  me  as 
though  I  were  certainly  no  farmer,  and  from  all  he 
could  gather  as  little  of  a  gentleman  too. " 

"You  bought  your  cow  in  the  open  market?" 
said  I.  "Well,  you  ought  to  do  all  right.  Go  on. " 

"I  bid  for  her  in  the  open  market, "  he  replied 
and,  looking  at  Bellwattle,  again  I  caught  that 
look  in  the  iris  of  her  eye. 

"Yes,  he  bid  for  it, "  she  prompted. 

"I  bid  for  it, "  he  repeated,  "but  they  were  all 
out  to  catch  me.  Every  time  I  scratched  my  nose 
and  the  price  rose,  it  rose  again  immediately  from 
some  other  quarter.  Of  course,  bidding  at  an 
auction's  an  exciting  job.  It  always  makes  my 
heart  beat  nineteen  to  the  dozen.  I  went  over 
the  price  I'd  intended  to  once  or  twice,  but  they 
thought  they'd  got  a  real  mug,  and  up  it  went 
again,  and  all  to  make  just  a  few  more  shillings 
than  the  beast  was  worth.  I'd  never  thought  of 
the  value  of  ten  shillings  so  much  in  all  my  life. 
One  chap  I  caught  at  it,  winking  to  the  auctioneer. 
He  didn't  know  I'd  seen  him,  so  I  ran  him  up  and 
then  left  him  with  his  own  beast.  " 

82 


Ultimate  $urcf)ase 

"I  wonder  how  many  miles  he  had  to  drive 
the  creature  home,"  said  Bell  wattle,  who  1  am 
sure  will  wonder  that  every  time  the  story  is  told. 

"I  wouldn't  have  minded  if  it  had  been  twenty," 
replied  Cruikshank  when,  catching  the  look  of 
pained  astonishment  in  her  face,  he  added,  "ex- 
cept so  far  as  the  poor  beast  was  concerned. " 

That  deducted  a  few  miles  from  the  hypo- 
thetical journey  the  cow  had  had  to  make.  Her 
expression  relaxed  somewhat,  but  a  good  ten  miles 
remained  in  her  imagination.  I  could  see  her 
following  it  along  the  road  well  into  the  falling 
of  the  night  when  footsore  and  weary  with  the 
blows  from  the  stick  of  the  exasperated  farmer,  it 
was  driven  into  a  shed  not  fit  for  any  animal  to 
sleep  in. 

If  ever  a  soul  is  crucified  in  mind,  it  is  the  soul 
of  Bellwattle  when  she  hears  of  an  animal  in 
distress. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  is  her  first  whis- 
pered ejaculation  when  she  sees  a  bird  or  an  animal 
in  unexpected  repose.  When  in  response  to  her 
furtive  approach  to  help  it,  the  bird  flies  or  the 
animal  calmly  walks  away,  her  exclamation  is 
always  one  of  relief,  and  never  of  exasperation. 
No  creature  on  four  or  two  legs  can  exhaust  her 
patience,  and  amidst  all  this  unbounded  affection, 

83 


anb 

I  sometimes  think  she  has  dissipated  her  love  for 
children.  Why  is  it  she  has  never  had  one?  Is 
childbearing  not  quite  so  automatic  a  process  as 
we  suppose  ?  Is  there  necessary  some  quality  in  a 
woman's  mind  as  well  as  the  health  of  her  body? 

What  idle  speculations  in  the  midst  of  the  en- 
gaging story  of  Cruikshank's  first  purchase  in  the 
open  market ! 

"What  did  you  have  to  pay  for  the  cow  in  the 
end?"  I  asked,  "and  was  she  a  really  good  milch 
cow  when  you  got  her?" 

"I  never  got  one  at  all,"  said  Cruikshank. 
"Every  time  they  ran  the  prices  up  too  high." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  with  Bellwattle  waiting 
there  at  home,  you  came  back  empty-handed?" 
I  exclaimed. 

"Not  empty-handed,"  said  she  quickly  with 
again  that  tremor  in  her  eyes.  "I  was  out  on  the 
road  looking  for  him  when  I  saw  him  turn  the 
corner.  He'd  got  a  box  under  his  arm — a  little 
box." 

I  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  Bellwattle's 
nostrils  were  distended  with  laughter,  and  Cruik- 
shank was  busy  cutting  himself  another  big  slice 
of  bread. 

"A  little  box!"  I  echoed. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "a  little  box.  There  was  a 
84 


'"/  bid  for  it,'  he  repeated,  'but 
they  were  well  out  to  catch  me. 
Every  time  I  scratched  my  nose  and 
the  price  rose,  it  rose  again  imme- 
diately from  some  other  quarter.1" 


&i)eep0fein*  anb 

man  in  the  market  who  had  a  ferret  that  was  worth 
one  and  six,  and  Cruikshank  bought  it  for  half-a- 
crown." 

"I  didn't  know  what  ferrets  were  worth," 
muttered  Cruikshank. 

"He  went  into  the  market  to  buy  a  cow,"  said 
Bellwattle. 

"And  he  came  back,"  said  I,  "with  a ' 

"Yes — but  wait  a  minute — wait  a  minute!" 
she  interposed.  "He  didn't  like  feeding  the  ferret 
because  it  was  the  very  devil  to  bite — the  creature ! 
So  I  fed  it  and  then  one  day  it  escaped  and  killed 
four  of  the  blue  Andalusians,  and  then  he  sold  it 
back  to  the  man  he'd  bought  it  from  for  one  and 
threepence." 

By  that  time  I  was  rolling  about  on  my  chair, 
and  Cruikshank,  saving  himself  from  the  indig- 
nity of  laughter,  was  thrusting  large  pieces  of 
bread-and-butter  into  his  mouth. 

As  for  Bellwattle,  there  was  now  a  wild  and  un- 
restrained look  in  her  eye,  and  the  tears  were 
coursing  in  streams  down  her  cheeks. 


Chapter  XI 

THE 
CREAKING  HINGE 


'"Beg    pargon,    surr,' 

he  said,  '  I  didn't  know 

no  one  were  here.'  " 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE   CREAKING   HINGE 

O  I  came  to  the  beginning  of  my 
peaceful  adventure  at  Leming- 
ton  Court.  I  am  sure  Moxon's 
aunt  never  found  so  much 
change  in  Tewkesbury  as  I  did 
there  in  that  one  street  village, 
where  the  red-tiled  church  on  one  side  and  the 
Vicarage  on  the  other,  together  with  the  black- 
smith's forge  at  the  corner  made  the  very  hub  of 
our  daily  life.  There,  of  a  day,  might  pass  no 
fewer  than  four  farm  wagons,  not  to  speak  of  the 
herd  of  milking  cows  from  Savage's  farm,  some- 
times an  occasional  flock  of  sheep  on  their  way  to 
a  change  of  pasture.  I  have  seen  two  farmers' 
traps  collected  at  the  corner  by  the  forge,  while  a 
queue  of  as  many  as  three  horses  would  be  waiting 
outside  to  be  shod. 

Yet  in  all  the  time  I  was  there  with  Cruikshank 
and  Bellwattle,  I  never  saw  a  policeman  directing 
the  traffic.  The  nearest  policeman  lived  almost 

89 


&>f)eep0iun£  anb  <5rep  Gusset 

three  miles  away,  in  a  little  house  at  the  cross 
roads.  He  had  a  passion  for  his  garden,  and  the 
sign — Police  Station — was  nearly  obliterated  on 
his  house  by  a  mass  of  rambling  roses. 

I  retired  to  sleep  that  night  in  a  huge  four-post 
bed.  It  stood  in  the  middle  of  an  oak-beamed 
room,  that  boasted  of  oak-mullioned  windows 
and  diamond  window-panes,  one  pane  of  which 
was  missing,  so  that  I  had  to  secure  myself  against 
the  draught  with  a  wad  of  brown  paper.  Before 
I  retired,  however,  I  had  pledged  myself  to  stay 
and  help  them  in  their  labours  until  Clarissa 
returned. 

This  meant  a  visit  of  at  least  three  months, 
and  when  the  next  morning  I  was,  so  to  speak, 
introduced  to  their  farm-hand — Puddimore — I 
was  not  surprised  they  were  glad  of  my  assist- 
ance. 

Puddimore  was  a  character  with  the  likeable 
qualities  that  all  characters  have  and  with  many 
of  those  failings  so  few  characters  are  without.  I 
shall  have  much  to  say  of  him  in  these  pages. 
Without  him,  the  record  of  this  gentlemanly  farm- 
ing would  be  wantonly  incomplete. 

He  stood  there  that  morning  outside  the  cow- 
sheds where  Cruikshank  presented  him  to  me, 
leaning  on  his  blackthorn  stick,  his  cap  lurching 

90 


Creaking 

over  one  eye,  his  gaiters  stained  with  dirt,  his  long, 
white  linen  coat  an  indescribable  tone  of  yellow, 
and  his  eye  winked  at  me,  it  seemed,  as  he  touched 
his  forehead. 

I  say  the  tone  of  Puddimore's  coat  was  in- 
describable. It  was  not.  Isabelle  is  the  word, 
and  for  those  who  do  not  know  what  Isabelle 
may  be,  I  must  leave  my  story  for  an  instant  to 
take  care  of  itself. 

In  the  reign  of  Philip,  which  was  in  the  days 
when  our  Elizabeth  was  on  the  throne,  the  Austrian 
Army,  at  war  I  suppose  it  was  with  France,  be- 
sieged the  town  of  Ostend. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  siege,  the  Princess 
Isabelle,  imbued  with  the  certainty  of  her  father's 
success  of  arms,  took  an  oath  she  would  not  change 
her  body  linen  until  the  town  had  been  taken. 

Seeing  that  Queen  Elizabeth  when  she  died 
left  but  one  change  of  body  linen  amongst  all  her 
countless  dresses,  this  perhaps  was  not  so  rash  an 
oath  as  it  might  seem.  With  the  characteristic 
optimism  of  all  who  wage  war,  she  probably  ex- 
pected the  siege  to  last  for  three  months.  There 
is  no  suggestion  in  the  story  that  the  little  Princess 
intended  to  inconvenience  herself  in  any  way. 

The  siege  began  in  1601,  and  one  must  assume 
that  she  started,  so  to  speak,  with  a  clean  slate. 


anb 

Three  months  went  by,  and  no  doubt  when  the 
blanchisseuse  began  to  get  hopeful  of  a  little  bit 
of  work,  she  was  told  there  would  soon  be  some- 
thing for  her  to  do. 

Six  months  went  by — a  year  and  then  another. 
I  picture  the  blanchisseuse  on  the  verge  of  starva- 
tion, and  the  little  Princess  in  tears.  In  three 
years'  time  the  inhabitants  of  Ostend  capitulated, 
for,  having  heard  of  the  Princess  Isabelle's  oath, 
they  no  doubt  succumbed  to  a  sense  of  decency 
and  nice  feeling.  There  is  a  limit  to  which  you 
can  expect  a  nice-minded  Princess  to  endure, 
and  the  inhabitants  of  Ostend  have  always  been 
considerate  to  all  womenkind.  It  would  not  be 
exaggeration  to  say  all  kinds  of  women. 

But  the  blanchisseuse  had  died — and  what 
remained  of  the  little  Princess's  body  linen  was 
handed  down  to  posterity  in  the  name  of  a  colour 
—the  colour  of  buff,  a  light  grey  brown — which 
to  this  day  in  France  is  called — Isabelle. 

The  only  one  I  feel  any  pity  for  was  the 
blanchisseuse. 

It  was  this — Isabelle — which  was  the  colour  of 
Puddimore's  coat. 

"He's  a  fine  genklemung,"  he  said  to  me  when 
Cruikshank  was  out  of  hearing,  "An'  I  know  a 
fine  genklemung  when  I  see  'un." 

92 


Creating 

I  felt  it  was  intended  I  should  repeat  this  to 
Cruikshank,  who,  when  I  did,  regarded  it  in  its 
worst  aspect. 

"It  means  I'm  no  farmer,"  said  he;  "Puddi- 
more  has  no  respect  for  fine  gentlemen — none  of 
them  have.  As  far  as  that  goes,  neither  have 
I.  There  are  plenty  of  fine  gentlemen.  The 
land  could  do  with  a  few  less.  It's  farmers  it 
wants.  Had  he  said  I  was  a  good  farmer  I'd  have 
raised  his  wages." 

"By  the  way,  what  are  his  wages?"  I  in- 
quired. 

He  smiled — awkwardly,  I  thought.  Bellwattle 
was  present  when  I  put  that  question,  and  he 
looked  at  her. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  ought  to  pay  him, "  said  she; 
for  Bellwattle  would  pay  everyone  in  excess  of 
their  due,  and  is  the  most  hopeless  person  I  have 
ever  met  for  giving  tips.  Again  and  again  have  I 
asked  her,  "Why  do  you  pay  a  man  for  doing  his 
work  for  which  he  has  a  regular  wage  ? "  To  which 
she  usually  makes  the  same  reply — "He  was  so 
nice  about  it. " 

Which  is  a  commentary  in  its  way  upon  most 
women.  It  is  not  so  much  what  you  do  for  them 
as  the  being  nice  about  it  which  touches  their 
hearts,  and  if  some  husbands  learnt  this  by  rote, 

93 


anfc  (Srep 

they  might  get  more  of  the  tips  and  perquisites 
of  married  life. 

"I  think  you  really  ought  to  pay  him  some- 
thing," she  repeated,  and  then  I  looked  round  at 
Cruikshank  in  astonishment. 

"Does  he  get  no  wages  at  all ? "  I  asked,  wonder- 
ing how  this  treatment  coincided  with  his  opinion 
of  his  master. 

"Oh!  he  gets  wages  in  kind,"  replied  Cruik- 
shank. "He  was  on  the  farm  here  before  I  came. 
I  pay  him  the  same  way  as  Sniff  did.  He  gets  all 
his  food  and  drink,  his  clothes,  his  tobacco  and 
all  the  necessaries  of  life.  And  he  sleeps  over  at 
the  farmhouse.  It's  no  good  giving  him  any 
money.  Money's  no  use  to  him.  On  the  contrary 
money  is  poison  in  his  throat." 

"Poison!"  I  echoed. 

' '  Yes,  poison.  Come  and  have  a  glass  of  cider, " 
said  he.  "We  have  jolly  good  cider  here.  Not 
your  bottled,  syrup-py  stuff,  with  gas  in  it  that 
parades  in  the  guise  of  champagne.  You'll  find 
it  a  bit  rough  at  first,  but  wait  till  we  come  to  the 
haymaking;  you'll  recognise  it  as  a  real  drink 
then." 

We  took  glasses  and  went  out  to  the  cider  store 
where  a  huge  cask  lay  alone  in  its  splendour. 
Cruikshank  took  his  keys  out  of  his  pocket  and 

94 


Creafeing 

rattled  them  loudly  before  he  fitted  the  key  in 
the  padlock.  He  looked  at  me,  and  I  looked  at 
him.  It  was  as  though  the  action  were  some  part 
of  a  mystic  ceremony  into  which  I  felt  it  premature 
to  inquire. 

In  silence  we  went  into  the  store.  In  silence, 
Cruikshank  drew  the  trickling  stream  of  pale 
yellow  liquid  out  of  the  cask  and  then,  just  as  we 
were  raising  our  glasses  to  our  lips,  the  figure  of 
Puddimore  appeared  at  the  entrance. 

"Beg  pargon,  surr, "  he  said,  "I  didn't  know 
no-one  were  here,  an'  the  door  been  open  seemed 
wrong  somehow." 

"No;  it's  all  right,  Puddimore,"  said  Cruik- 
shank, and  with  the  greatest  solemnity  he  drew  a 
third  glass  out  of  his  pocket.  "Have  a  drop  of 
cider?" 

"Well,  surr,"  Puddimore  began,  but  he  came 
no  further  in  his  explanations  as  to  why  he  might 
or  might  not  like  a  drop.  A  glass  was  thrust  into 
his  hands  and  he  raised  it  without  hesitation  to 
his  lips.  I  watched  it  pouring  down  his  old  throat 
as  he  tilted  his  head  back.  Never  a  swallow, 
never  an  expansion  or  contraction  of  his  muscles. 
It  was  like  tipping  the  contents  of  a  bucket  into 
a  well. 

Sweeping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand, 
95 


anb 

he  passed  the  glass  back  to  Cruikshank,  lingered  a 
sanguine  moment  and  then,  fluttering  his  thanks 
was  gone. 

"Do  you  always  jangle  the  keys?"  I  asked. 

"It's  not  necessary,"  said  he,  "that  old  door 
creaks  on  its  hinge;  I  must  have  it  oiled. " 


Chapter  XII 
THE  MELEE 


"  Bellwattle  cursed  and  shouted 
at  them.  You  could  without 
exaggeration  hear  her  jeeding 
the  calves  all  over  the  farm." 


97 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  MELEE 

LL  previous  records  of  Bellwattle 
have  revealed  her  rather  in  her  re- 
semblance to  Mrs.  Malapropthan 
in  the  essential  characteristics  of 
her  sex.  She  was  a  Mrs.  Malaprop 
of  words,  as  when  I  heard  her 
once  gently  singing  to  herself. 

"Bid  me  to  live  and  I  will  live 
Thy  prostitute  to  be " 

"Thy  what?  "said  I. 

She  repeated  the  opprobrious  word  and  her 
expression  wore  the  innocence  of  a  child. 

"Thy  Protestant,"  I  corrected  her  and  I  kept 
my  face  straight. 

"Well,  what  on  earth  does  that  mean?"  she 
exclaimed;  "Why  not  Roman  Catholic  or  Pres- 
byterian? Even  then  it  has  no  sense.  You  can 
understand  the  other." 

As  I  say,  she  was  a  Mrs.  Malaprop  of  words, 
99 


£»f)ecpsUtns  anfc  (Srcp 

but  no  less  was  she  a  Mrs.  Malaprop  in  most  of  her 
reasoning,  her  arguments,  in  fact  nearly  all  of  the 
mental  exercises  in  which  she  engaged  herself. 

Her  argument  as  to  the  sanity  of  Euclid  may 
be  remembered.  Her  appreciation  of  that  sanity 
when  to  her  own  satisfaction  she  discovered  he 
was  a  maker  of  triangles  for  use  in  brass  bands 
could  not  well  be  omitted  from  the  remembrance. 
As  a  mental  effort  it  was  distinctly  Malapropian, 
and  as  such  I  have  every  reason  to  suppose  she 
will  be  recalled  by  those  who  have  had  account 
of  her  elsewhere. 

But  looking  back  upon  those  three  months  at 
Lemington,  it  is  not  so  much  in  her  Malaprop 
vein  that  I  have  a  picture  of  her,  but  as  of  a  woman 
with  deep  emotions  where  her  mental  processes 
were  not  concerned,  with  about  the  bravest  heart 
I  ever  knew,  and  with  an  infinite  sense  of  pure  and 
natural  philosophy. 

That  brave  heart  and  those  deep  emotions  will 
become  evident  as  this  chronicle  progresses,  for 
I  find  in  review  of  it  all,  that  every  incident  in  the 
life  of  that  farm  led  up  to  the  little  tragedy  with 
which  these  pages  close.  It  is  not  one  of  those 
remorseless  tragedies.  It  does  not  wring  the  heart 
or  make  life  fearsome  and  the  less  worth  living. 
It  is  the  tragedy  of  two  stout  hearts,  and  if  any 

100 


Melee 

suspicion  of  moisture  has  found  its  way  into  my 
eyes  about  it,  at  least  it  has  not  overflowed.  I  have 
even  scarcely  noticed  it. 

The  very  next  morning,  rising  betimes  for  me, 
I  was  to  see  Bell  wattle  in  full  display  of  those 
maternal  instincts  which,  elsewhere  in  these  pages, 
I  have  said  she  seemed  to  reserve  entirely  for 
animals. 

She  called  me  to  help  her  feed  the  calves. 

"It's  the  very  deuce  of  a  business,"  said  she; 
"they're  little  devils — you  never  saw  such  little 
devils." 

I  certainly  never  did,  and  had  I  myself  been 
responsible  for  their  welfare,  there  would  have 
been  many  a  sore  snout  or  a  thick  ear,  or  whatever 
you  do  to  a  calf  to  induce  it  to  behave  itself.  I 
should  have  lost  patience. 

It  was  not  so  with  Bellwattle.  Truly  her 
language  was  terrible.  I  have  never  heard  a 
woman  use  such  language,  and  the  tone  of  her 
voice  was  that  of  unmitigated  rage,  yet  never 
once  did  she  lay  a  hand  on  one  single  calf  to  hurt 
it. 

Indeed  I  think  she  loved  them  all  the  better 
for  their  behaviour.  She  loves  a  cat  that  can 
steal  and,  in  her  charge,  I  have  never  seen  a  cat 
that  could  not.  She  adores  a  dog  when  he  has 

101 


£>f)eepsfems  anb  <&rcp  Gusset 

the  wit  and  the  sharpness  to  purloin  the  best 
part  of  the  Sunday  dinner.  In  her  heart,  I  believe 
she  thinks  him  no  end  of  a  hero  to  have  outwitted 
his  master,  though  of  course,  before  Cruikshank 
in  his  just  rage  at  such  a  catastrophe,  she  is  wisely 
silent,  concealing  all  her  glee  behind  a  solemn 
expression  of  disapproval. 

However,  even  Cruikshank,  who  thinks  he  can 
train  a  dog,  she  must  somehow  have  won  round 
to  her  way  of  thinking,  for  there  is  a  homely 
verse  about  Dandy  and  another  dog — Dicky — 
which  has  found  its  way  into  the  annals  of  that 
family.  I  believe  there  are  verses  of  the  kind  to 
be  found  in  every  household.  Usually  they  are 
sung  to  what  might  be  called  doggerel  tunes  and 
in  this  instance  I  suspect  Cruikshank  of  author- 
ship. Bellwattle  is  as  incapable  of  an  effort  in 
verse  as  any  healthy-minded  woman  I  have  ever 
come  across. 

The  stanza  runs — 


'  I  stole  the  mutton  bone  I  did, 
I  stole  the  mutton  bone; 

I  took  it  'neath  the  table,  and  I  eat  it  all  alone, 
And  Dicky  never  had  a  bit 
Not  e'er  a  bit  had  he, 

I  stole  the  mutton  bone  I  did,  and  had  it  for  my 
tea." 

1 02 


Cije 

Of  course,  it  is  the  most  hopeless  drivel,  but 
sung,  as  they  sing  it  to  Dandy  with  emphatic 
braggadocio  to  the  tune  of  Marching  through 
Georgia,  it  gains  greatly  in  meaning  and  purpose. 
Possibly  Dandy  himself  aids  in  this  illusion,  for 
he  sits  there  listening  with  an  attentive  ear  and 
an  expression  on  his  face  as  though  they  were 
pinning  medals  to  his  chest. 

That  Cruikshank  is  the  author,  leads  me  to 
suppose  that,  in  those  quiet  moments  all  wives 
can  have  with  their  husbands  if  they  chose,  Bell- 
wattle  has  cajoled  him  into  her  way  of  thinking. 
I  am  hanged  if  I  would  give  way,  but  then  I  do 
not  know  Bell  wattle  in  her  quiet  moments,  and 
am  probably  talking  right  out  of  my  hat. 

If  I  had  any  sympathy  with  those  calves  that 
morning,  it  was  a  forced  and  unnatural  virtue. 
They  butted,  they  kicked,  they  spilt  more  milk 
than  ever  they  consumed,  and  they  were  the 
greediest  little  devils  I  have  ever  come  across  in 
my  life. 

There  were  ten  of  them,  all  in  one  big  stable 
and,  for  the  convenience  of  feeding,  the  place  was 
divided  by  partitions  into  three  stalls.  Some 
calves  were  older  than  others.  They  required 
different  nourishment;  they  could  take  the  less 
of  pure  milk  and  needed  the  more  of  calf-meal. 

103 


anfc 

This  was  part  of  my  duty  that  morning,  mixing 
the  calf -meal  in  a  bucket  with  skim  milk. 

But  even  with  the  partitions  in  that  stable, 
the  job  was  an  arduous  one.  While  one  was  being 
fed,  the  others  with  a  strength  and  persistence 
that  was  amazing,  would  come  thrusting  their 
noses  round  all  possible  corners  to  get  at  the  pail. 
Bellwattle  cursed  and  shouted  at  them.  You  could 
without  exaggeration  hear  her  feeding  the  calves 
all  over  the  farm. 

Every  little  beast  had  a  name,  and  had  you 
not  known  they  were  calves,  at  a  distance  you 
might  have  believed  yourself  in  the  vicinity  of  a 
national  school,  conducted  by  a  mistress  with  a 
vile  temper  and  composed  of  the  most  unruly  little 
brats  it  would  be  possible  to  find  in  a  day's  march. 

They  pushed  their  noses  in  between  her  arms. 
They  wormed  their  way  into  the  corner  where  she 
had  isolated  the  little  beast  whose  turn  it  was  to 
be  fed.  And  finally,  one  of  them,  sharper  of  wit 
than  the  rest,  thrust  his  head  between  her  legs 
and  lifted  her  clean  off  her  feet,  when  the  contents 
of  the  bucket  were  spilled  all  over  the  stable  floor. 

I  cannot  remember  the  names  she  called  him, 
for  her  back  was  aching  fit  to  break  by  this,  and 
the  air  was  so  full  of  noises  that  it  is  even  possible 
I  did  not  hear.  But  I  believe  by  that  method  of 

104 


attack,  he  found  a  place  deeper  in  her  heart  than 
any  of  the  rest  of  them. 

I  came  away  with  the  empty  buckets  from 
that  m$lee,  exhausted  and  convinced  that  there 
is  no  bottom  to  the  depths  of  Bellwattle's  heart 
where  young  things  are  concerned;  that  there  is 
no  limit  to  her  patience. 

I  almost  believe  she  could  bring  up  a  nestful 
of  young  wrens  to  maturity  from  the  first  moment 
they  emerged  from  their  eggs.  But  I  have  my 
grave  doubts  as  to  what  sort  of  place  the  world 
would  be  if  all  its  creatures  had  been  mothered 
by  Bellwattle.  We  should  be  a  thieving,  dishonest 
lot,  living  mostly  for  our  stomachs  and  dying  in 
thousands  by  early  middle  age  of  a  fatty  degenera- 
tion for  which  no  one  would  have  the  energy  to 
find  a  cure. 

One  virtue,  however,  I  am  certain  we  should  have. 

We  should  all  adore  Bellwattle  and  even  in  the 
gasping  moments  of  death  would  give  her  our 
blessing. 


105 


Chapter  XI 1 1 

BEYOND   THE 
FIELD'S  EDGE 


"  With  the  sight  in 
his  mind,  he  yet 
may  look  beyond 
the  field's  edge  to 
the  belt  of  wood." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BEYOND  THE  FIELD'S   EDGE 

WAS  about  to  say  it  was  strange 
— it  was  not  strange — probably 
it  was  the  most  natural  thing 
that  could  have  happened  for 
Cruikshank  and  me  that  even- 
ing to  find  ourselves  talking  of 
the  maternal  instinct,  and  sooner  or  later  asso- 
ciating it  with  the  name  of  Bellwattle. 

I  had  described  for  him  my  efforts  and  ex- 
periences over  the  feeding  of  the  calves  as  we  sat 
after  supper  in  the  little  room  that  was  his  study 
and  office  combined.  In  her  white,  Queen  Anne 
panelled  room  with  a  crackling  fire  of  applewood, 
Bellwattle  was  mending  socks  and  talking,  I  have 
no  doubt  to  herself,  smoking  her  innumerable 
cigarettes  and  deeply  inhaling  with  that  comic 
expression  she  has,  like  a  fish  gasping  out  of  water. 
We  had  left  her  there  to  her  darning,  though 
there  are  few  things  she  likes  better  than  to  sit 
at  her  sewing  and  hear  men  talk.  In  these  ways 

109 


anb  <f>rep  l\usset 


she  gathers  her  quaint  stores  of  knowledge.  I 
catch  a  look  in  her  eye  sometimes  on  these  occa- 
sions, the  look  of  a  squirrel  hurrying  home  with 
a  nut.  It  is  an  odd  way  to  learn,  but  now  that  I 
have  a  daughter  myself  and  catechise  her  every 
holiday  when  she  comes  home  from  school,  I 
strongly  suspect  it  is  the  backbone  of  many  a 
woman's  education. 

What  a  lot  of  nonsense  they  must  acquire! 

This  evening,  Bellwattle  looked  up  sharply 
as  we  went  to  the  door. 

'  '  Where  are  you  going  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 

We  intimated  it  was  to  the  study,  well  knowing 
we  were  like  two  dogs  slinking  away  to  their 
manger. 

"Can't  you  talk  here?"  she  asked. 

"We  could,"  said  I,  and  I  wanted  to  be  whole- 
hearted about  it  but  felt  there  was  in  my  tone 
the  confession  that  there  are  moments  when  men 
want  to  talk  to  men,  and  the  dearest  woman  in 
the  world  is  in  the  way.  I  had  not  seen  Cruik- 
shank  since  I  was  married.  Many  things  had 
happened.  I  suppose  he  was  feeling  the  same. 

"Well,  I  just  wanted  to  show  you  those  plans 
of  the  land,"  he  said  lamely,  "then  we'll  come 
back." 

She  looked  at  both  of  us  and  I  dare  swear  she 
no 


tfje  Jfielb's! 

knew  better  what  we  were  going  to  talk  about 
than  we  did  ourselves.  So  many  women  would 
have  thrown  that  instinctive  knowledge  in  our 
faces  and  made  a  plaint  out  of  the  situation.  I 
wonder  did  Cruikshank  realise  what  an  excep- 
tional wife  he  has  when  she  said — 

"Yes — show  him  the  plans — I'll  be  here  when 
you  come  back  if  you  are  not  too  long." 

I  know  of  those  who  would  complain  that  that 
is  not  a  good  instance  to  record,  because  it  is  so 
unlike  life.  To  these  I  would  retort  that  their 
fortunes,  if  they  have  any,  are  not  those  of  Cruik- 
shank. It  is  sufficient  for  me  that  what  happens 
is  real  enough,  and  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence 
whether  I  am  believed  or  not  in  the  telling  of  it. 

"So  you  helped  feed  the  calves,"  were  the  first 
words  he  said  to  me  when  we  were  seated  and  had 
our  pipes  alight. 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  the  calves, "  said  I;  "they 
exhaust  all  thought.  If  the  rest  of  farming  is  like 
that,  it's  a  strenuous  life.  I'm  not  thinking  about 
the  calves.  I'm  thinking  about  Bellwattle." 

He  took  a  penknife  out  of  his  pocket  and  with 
gentle  taps  he  rammed  down  the  ashes  in  his  pipe. 
It  meant  the  thing  had  started  well,  and  he  was 
going  to  enjoy  it  down  to  the  last  ember. 

"What  about  her?"  he  asked. 
in 


an  to 

I  am  sure  he  knew  well  enough  what  I  was  going 
to  say,  but  men  it  would  seem  in  their  conversa- 
tions hold  themselves  and  others  in  suspicion  at 
the  first  sign  of  intuition. 

'One  woman  to  another  would  reply,  "I  know 
what  you're  going  to  say,"  and  from  that  instant 
all  preliminaries  would  be  negotiated.  Such  a 
remark  as  that  from  one  woman  to  another  would 
be  the  intimation  of  a  close  sympathy  of  under- 
standing. Had  Cruikshank  replied  in  that  manner 
to  me,  doubtless  I  should  have  resented  it,  regard- 
ing the  assumption  on  his  part  as  little  short  of 
conceit. 

"What  about  her?"  he  asked  blandly  and 
that,  between  men,  was  just  the  sort  of  reply  that 
I  required.  Straight  away  I  let  go  what  was  in 
my  mind.  Had  he  not  wanted  to  hear  it,  he  would 
never  have  replied  as  he  did. 

"Seven  years  haven't  you  been  married?" 
said  I. 

He  nodded  his  head  and  then  allowed  some- 
thing to  go  wrong  with  his  pipe,  for  he  stood  up, 
so  that  his  back  was  turned  to  me  and  fiddled 
about  with  a  feather,  thrusting  it  into  the  stem. 
Again,  between  women,  this  would  have  been 
an  intimation  that  enough  had  been  said.  Be- 
tween us,  it  was  that  he  was  quite  ready  to  hear 

112 


tije  Jftelb'tf  Cbge 

all  I  had  to  say,  but  was  not  prepared  to  show 
me  what  he  felt  about  it. 

I  took  the  courage  of  a  great  friendship  in 
both  hands. 

"It's  damned  impertinent,"  said  I;  "but  why 
haven't  you  had  any  children?" 

"Is  this  the  outcome  of  helping  to  feed  the 
calves?"  he  asked,  and,  by  the  way  he  persisted 
in  fiddling  with  that  feather  in  a  pipe  any  man 
would  have  known  was  burning  well,  I  knew  he 
was  making  to  gain  time. 

"Well,  it  is  if  you  like,"  I  replied.  "I've  often 
thought  it  before.  But  this  morning — one  of 
those  calves  is  being  weaned — she  fed  it  with  her 
fingers,  shoving  them  in  its  mouth,  and  inducing 
it  to  suck  with  its  nose  in  the  milk,  till  it  began 
sucking  the  milk  of  its  own  accord.  Nearly  half 
an  hour  she  stuck  at  it  with  her  back  bent  over 
that  bucket.  Directly  she  took  her  fingers  out  of 
the  milk,  the  little  beast  would  follow  her  hand. 
Back  it  would  go  in  the  milk  again.  Back  would 
go  his  nose  after  it.  He'd  eat  the  milk  as  long  as 
her  fingers  were  there,  but  I'm  damned  if  he'd 
drink  it.  She  showed  me  her  fingers  after  half  an 
hour  of  that,  and  they  were  all  sore  and  red  where 
he'd  been  munching  them.  After  about  twenty 
minutes,  I  told  her  I'd  let  the  little  brute  starve, 
8  113 


S5>ljeepsktng  anto  (ferep 

and  then  she  looked  up  at  me — just  one  look. 
Why  hasn't  she  got  any  children,  old  man?  Is 
there  anything  wrong?" 

With  his  back  still  turned,  he  began  filling  a 
fresh  pipe. 

"I  know  that  look,"  said  he. 

"Of  course  you  know  it,"  I  retorted  testily. 
He  was  dodging  me.  "But  if  my  question  is 
damned  impertinent,  why  don't  you  say  so?" 

He  lit  his  pipe,  pressing  down  the  burning 
tobacco  four  separate  times  before  he  answered 
my  question.  Then  he  turned  and  I  could  see  his 
face.  There  was  a  glow  in  it.  I  can  describe 
it  by  no  other  word.  He  was  looking  as  a  man 
might  look  who  had  caught  a  glimpse  beyond 
the  veil  of  earthly  things.  I  have  seen  that 
look  sometimes  in  women's  faces — seldom  in  a 
man's. 

For  women,  in  their  bodies,  can  reach  across 
the  gulf  and  with  their  fingers  touch  the  infinite. 
Nature  has  chosen  them  to  be  the  spring  from 
which  wells  the  stream  of  life.  Their  touch  is  an 
actual  touch  with  the  quick  and  with  the  dead, 
with  the  life  that  was  and  is  and  is  to  be.  The  first 
movement,  the  first  awakening  as  when  the  seed 
first  answers  to  the  warmth  of  the  soil,  is  per- 
mitted to  their  secret  consciousness.  All  that  a 

114 


tfje  Jftclfc'g 

man  knows  and  sees  are  the  wide  stretches  of  the 
barren  earth  where  the  plough  has  cut  its  furrows. 

With  the  sight  in  his  mind,  he  yet  may  look  be- 
yond the  field's  edge  to  the  belt  of  wood;  beyond 
that  sometimes  to  the  far  hills,  but  seldom  can 
his  sight  reach  the  plain  beyond  once  more  where 
the  river  runs  to  join  the  distant  sea. 
.  Yet  the  look  in  Cruikshank's  eye  at  that 
moment  had  this  illimitable  distance  I  have  so 
seldom  seen.  Watching  him  then,  he  appeared 
to  me  as  one  who  had  been  admitted  to  some  secret 
knowledge;  as  though  he  knew  things  some  of 
which  he  could  not  tell,  not  even  to  himself. 

Firmly  I  do  believe  there  is  a  state  of  mind,  a 
condition  of  vision,  when  one  knows  far  more  than 
one  can  speak.  Words  have  no  relation  to  it. 

I  should  not  expect  a  man  who  had  seen  God 
to  be  able  to  tell  me  what  he  saw.  I  should  not 
expect  him  to  know  himself.  Words  are  only  the 
language  of  the  things  we  do  and  feel.  There  are 
states  of  mind  in  which  words  have  no  place  at 
all.  No  vocabulary  has  been  contrived  to  fit  them. 
They  only  become  faintly  intelligible  to  ourselves 
when  we  have  not  a  single  thought  in  the  upper 
consciousness  of  our  minds. 

Such  a  condition  I  found  myself  aware  of  in 
Cruikshank  when  I  saw  that  look  in  his  eyes. 


fefjeepstein*  anb 

Such  a  condition  I  was  convinced  of  when  I  heard 
his  reply. 

"As  a  matter-of-fact,"  said  he  slowly,  "just 
four  days  ago,  she  told  me  she  was  going  to  have 
a  baby." 

He  took  up  the  poker  as  if  it  were  a  sword, 
and  struck  it  into  the  heart  of  the  fire  as  though 
he  were  administering  the  death  thrust  to  the 
most  relentless  enemy  of  his  soul. 

"I  can't  believe  it  yet,"  he  said,  and  he  thrust 
again,  by  which  action  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  how 
much  he  did  believe  and  how  much  already  he 
was  prepared  to  fight  for  its  existence  against  the 
countless  odds  of  life. 


116 


Chapter  XIV 

THE  GLIMMERING  OF 
COMMONSENSE 


"But  were  commonsense 
the  virtue  some  demand 
for  it,  the  story  of  Jack 
the  Giant-killer  would 
never  have  been  written. ' ' 


117 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE   GLIMMERING   OF   COMMONSENSE 

HAVE  so  many  pictures,  so  many 
memories  of  those  days  at  Leming- 
ton  Court  in  my  thoughts  that  I 
must  pick  and  choose  and  cannot 
make  up  my  mind  where  to  begin. 
One  might  divide  a  day  of  a  good 
twelve  hours  into  the  labour  of  those  things 
which  must  be  done  and  those  things  which  have 
need  of  doing.  The  cows  must  be  milked,  but 
there  is  only  a  need  for  the  mending  of  hedges. 
The  calves  must  be  fed,  the  pigs  and  the  chickens, 
but  there  is  only  a  need  for  the  manure  to  be 
cleared  out  of  the  farmyard  and  taken  away  in 
the  muck  cart  to  the  meadows  which  that  year 
are  going  to  be  put  down  for  hay. 

Between  one  thing  and  another  the  work  is 
endless.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  appreciated 
the  meaning  of  the  Sabbath  rest.  For  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  I  distinguished  a  peaceful  note 
in  a  church  bell,  hearing,  even  in  the  dissonorous 

119 


&f)eejp*fem*  anb 

jangle  of  that  in  Lemington,  a  welcome  release, 
rather  than  the  suggestion  I  get  in  London,  a 
suggestion  of  the  prelude  to  the  town-crier's  voice 
advertising  the  wares  of  religion. 

The  Sabbath  indeed  was  a  peaceful  day  on 
the  farm.  Certainly  there  were  still  the  inevit- 
able duties  that  had  to  be  done.  Calves  do  not 
languish  in  their  appetites  because  God  appointed 
for  Himself  a  day  of  rest.  But  once  these  duties 
were  fulfilled,  one  might  dispense  with  the  things 
that  needed  doing  and  keep  a  clear  conscience; 
one  could  do  a  little  work  in  the  kitchen-garden, 
or  lean  over  the  pigsty,  chewing  a  straw  and 
watch  the  pigs  fattening  for  the  market.  Some- 
times the  three  of  us  would  walk  round  the  fields 
together,  inspecting  the  cattle  grazing,  the  milking 
cows  in  one  meadow,  the  calves  that  had  passed 
out  of  Bellwattle's  hands  in  another. 

This  last  Sabbath  occupation  was  one  that  had 
immense  pleasure  for  her.  There  were  her  children, 
boys  and  girls,  starting  out  in  the  school  of  the 
world.  She  had  stories  to  tell  of  all  of  them»  and 
I  always  saw  a  look  of  pathetic  amazement  pass 
like  a  shadow  across  her  eyes  when  one  or  another 
would  not  answer  to  the  name  she  had  given  it, 
edging  away  from  her  outstretched  hand  and 
suspicious  of  her  voice  even  upon  its  softest  notes. 

I2O 


(SUmmering  of  Commonsense 

I  remember  well  that  first  Sunday  when  I  noticed 
it.  Out  in  the  orchard  with  five  or  six  others  of 
its  term  was  a  black  calf,  well-deserving  the  name 
of— Tinker. 

She  pulled  the  sweetest  blades  of  grass  she  could 
find  and  softly  she  approached  it. 

"Come  on,  Tinker,"  she  whispered.  I  think 
she  wanted  to  show  me  that  first  day  how  surely 
she  had  won  their  hearts.  "He  was  a  little  devil, 
Tinker  was,"  she  muttered  in  an  aside  to  us  as 
step  by  step  she  drew  nearer  to  him.  "It  took 
me  an  hour  every  day  to  wean  him.  All  he  did 
was  blow  bubbles.  Come  on,  Tinker.  Sook-sook- 
sook-sook-sook. " 

He  looked  at  the  tuft  of  grass  and  he  looked 
at  her  with  a  roving  eye  until  she  was  within  a 
yard  of  him  and  then,  with  a  flick  of  his  heels 
in  the  air,  he  was  off. 

She  turned  round  with  that  look  in  her  eyes 
then. 

"I  spent  hours  over  him  with  sulphur-ointment 
when  he  had  ringworm,"  she  said,  quaintly. 

"He'll  show  his  gratitude  by  growing  into  a 
fine  big  beast,"  said  Cruikshank,  to  which  she 
replied — 

"That  sort  of  gratitude  may  appeal  to  you — 
I  don't  want  it." 

121 


anb  <£rct>  Russet 


I  think  I  know  what  she  wants.  It  is  the  world 
in  her  lap.  Once  it  has  scrambled  to  the  floor  she 
is  not  one  to  tie  it  to  her  apron  strings.  Cosseting 
is  not  in  her  nature.  If  it  is  a  son  that  is  waiting 
to  make  his  cry  as  he  comes  into  the  world,  she 
will  take  him  softly  to  her  breast  and  dandle  him 
gently  in  her  lap,  but  once  he  flicks  his  heels  in  the 
air,  she  will  never  call  him  back.  He  may  go  to 
the  Wars  ;  he  may  adventure  in  the  farthest  corners 
of  the  earth  and  never  see  her  again,  or  if  it  be  only 
that  he  may  sneeze,  he  will  always  have  her  gener- 
ous blessing. 

One  of  Cruikshank's  milking  cows  has  de- 
veloped a  disease  which  in  this  neighbourhood 
is  known  as  —  low.  Her  foot  is  considerably  swol- 
len and  inflamed.  The  wretched  beast  can  only 
hobble  out  to  pasture  on  three  legs.  Upon  ex- 
amination, it  seems  pretty  obvious  she  has  split 
the  skin  between  the  toes  when  some  dirt  out  of 
the  farmyard  has  penetrated  the  wound.  It  is 
now  a  festering  sore.  Grazing  is  a  misery  to  her. 
It  is  no  less  a  misery  to  Bellwattle  to  watch  her 
limping  out  to  pasture,  yet  there  is  some  odd 
impulse  which  draws  her  to  look  out  of  the  window 
every  time  she  hears  the  cows  being  turned  out 
into  the  field. 

With  every  step  that  Daisy  takes  there  is,  I 
122 


Glimmering  of  Commonsense 

believe,  a  sharp,  physical  pain  in  Bellwattle's 
heart.  She  makes  a  face  as  though  her  foot  had 
been  trodden  on  by  a  heavy  boot. 

"Then  why  do  you  look?"  I  asked  her. 

"Can't  help  it,"  she  replied.  "It's  in  such 
pain — you  can  see  it  is." 

There  is  something  of  the  spirit  of  crucifixion 
in  this.  I  am  quite  certain  she  is  not  conscious 
of  a  purpose — indeed  there  can  be  none.  Her 
suffering  does  not  help  Daisy  or  ease  her  pain. 
Nevertheless  there  are  some  people  in  the  world 
who  voluntarily  must  nail  their  imaginations  to 
the  cross  to  share  the  pain  of  others.  Again  there 
are  some  who  will  not  look  at  suffering  at  all, 
knowing  they  cannot  relieve  it. 

"The  world  has  enough  suffering  already,"  they 
say,  "without  our  going  out  of  our  way  to  see  it." 

That  is  quite  logical.  There  is  no  end  of  com- 
monsense  about  it.  But  were  commonsense  the 
virtue  some  would  demand  for  it,  Christ  might 
have  come  down  from  the  Cross  and  saved  Him- 
self and  the  story  of  Jack  the  Giant-killer  would 
never  have  been  written. 

Bellwattle  certainly  has  not  one  glimmering 
of  this  commonsense.  There  is  little  enough  of  it 
in  Cruikshank.  I  realised  that  the  other  day, 
when,  walking  round  the  fields,  we  found  a  hare 

123 


anb 

with  a  broken  leg,  lying,  incapable  of  motion,  by 
the  side  of  the  hedge. 

It  was  his  field,  his  hedge  and  consequently 
he  was  invested  with  a  proprietary  right  over  the 
hare.  It  was  for  him  to  say  what  was  to  be  done 
with  it.  The  moment  he  realised  that — and  it 
was  at  once — an  odd,  grey  look  came  into  his  face. 
He  searched  about  in  the  hedge  and  in  the  ditch 
for  a  big  stone  and,  having  found  it,  never  once 
looked  at  me. 

"Are  you  going  to  kill  it?"  I  asked. 

He  nodded  his  head,  and  there  was  a  pallor  in 
his  cheeks  that  astonished  me.  I  knew  he  was 
suffering  the  tortures  of  the  damned.  So  far  he 
had  those  feelings  well  in  control.  With  calcu- 
lated precision,  he  measured  his  distance  and 
carefully  poised  his  arm  to  hurl  the  stone  down 
with  the  greatest  force  on  the  beast's  head.  Then 
he  let  go.  It  was  noticeable  that  he  could  not 
keep  the  stone  in  his  hand  with  which  to  bash  out 
its  brains. 

Commonsense  might  have  been  of  some  use 
to  him  then,  for  with  the  first  blow  he  almost 
missed  it,  and  the  wretched  animal  was  still  alive. 
It  twisted  and  contorted  itself  on  the  grass  at 
his  feet.  It  was  then  that  all  control  of  his  feel- 
ings left  him.  He  seized  the  stone  in  his  hand 

124 


<£>ltmmenns  of  Commongcnsc 

and  beat  it  again  and  again  on  the  animal's  skull 
till  the  whole  thing  was  a  pulp  of  bone  and  brains 
and  blood,  and  with  every  blow  he  made  a  cry  in 
his  throat. 

I  am  quite  certain  he  did  not  hear  himself.  His 
suffering  was  deeper  than  his  upper  consciousness. 
These  are  the  noises,  the  cries  men  make  when 
they  are  killing  in  battle.  It  is  the  cry  of  the  soul 
of  a  man  as  it  wrestles  with  the  innate  savage  of 
his  nature. 

In  bayonet  practice,  they  instruct  the  men  to 
utter  these  sounds  of  violence  with  every  thrust 
they  make.  It  may  be  they  think  it  terrifies  the 
enemy.  But  it  seems  to  me  there  is  no  need  for 
such  instructions.  Be  it  the  savage  in  the  man 
or  be  it  the  soul,  both  will  cry  out  in  the  awful 
struggle  of  that  moment. 

When  the  little  beast  was  dead,  Cruikshank 
stood  up  and  looked  at  me.  The  pupils  of  his 
eyes  were  twice  their  normal  size,  and  even  to  his 
lips  he  was  white. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?"  I 
asked. 

In  answer  to  that  question,  he  stooped  down, 
picked  it  up  and  threw  it  into  the  thickest  part 
of  the  hedge  where  none  but  the  weasels  would 
ever  find  it. 

125 


nnb 

"But  surely  that  might  have  been  cooked  and 
eaten,"  said  I. 

He  looked  at  me  comprehensively. 

"Do  you  imagine  she  wouldn't  have  guessed?" 
he  replied. 

He  had  turned  to  a  thought  of  Bellwattle  and 
already  the  colour  was  beginning  to  come  back 
into  his  face. 


126 


Chapter  XV 
HEALING  PROPERTIES 


"A  wife  knows  her  husband 

for  a  silly  old  fool,  no  less 

than   he   knows    her  for  an 

extravagant  hussy." 


127 


CHAPTER  XV 

HEALING   PROPERTIES 

UT  Daisy  with  her  infirmity  has 
been  forgotten.  Low — is  a 
gradual  business.  Like  any 
festering  sore,  it  seems  little 
enough  at  first.  Bellwattle, 
however,  was  all  for  sending  to 
the  vet.,  and  at  once.  She  believes  in  none  but 
the  specialist  in  these  matters,  and  will  not  give 
Cruikshank  credit  for  the  meanest  intelligence 
where  the  sufferings  of  an  animal  are  con- 
cerned, or  his  particular  job  is  not  called  into 
question. 

"You  can't  know  a  little  about  everything," 
says  she.  ' '  You  paint  little  pictures  and  you  really 
play  the  piano  nicely.  You  can  sing.  I  always 
say  you've  got  quite  a  nice  voice.  And  I'm  quite 
certain  you  know  something  about  making  a  gar- 
den. I  think  any  man  ought  to  be  satisfied  with 
that  and  leave  a  cow  when  it's  sick  to  a  veterinary 
surgeon.  It's  his  job. " 

9  129 


anb 

"How  about  Cruikshank's  flair, "  I  interposed 
timidly,  for  she  was  speaking  with  feeling  and, 
up  to  that  moment,  not  being  interrupted,  was 
gaining  force  and  confidence  with  every  word  she 
said.  This  question  of  mine  only  irritated  her. 

"Flair!"  she  exclaimed,  and  I  glanced  at  Cruik- 
shank  who  was  looking  like  a  very  small  boy  trying 
to  remember  the  lesson  he  had  learnt  overnight. 
I  am  sure  this  expression  was  induced  by  the  effort 
of  endeavouring  to  think  of  some  crushing  reply 
which  apparently  did  not  materialise. 

"Flair!"  she  repeated;  "You  can't  cure  a  cow 
with  a  flair!  That  cow's  really  suffering,  and  if 
Cruikshank  got  a  flair  about  curing  it,  it's  as  like 
as  not  he'd  make  it  worse. 

"I  shall  ask  Puddimore, "  said  Cruikshank. 
"He'll  know  whether  we  ought  to  have  a  vet.  or 
not." 

Bellwattle's  eyes  were  full  of  contempt.  I  had 
never  seen  her,  in  the  presence  of  her  husband, 
so  vehemently  take  control  of  the  situation.  She 
laughed  ironically  at  the  mention  of  Puddimore. 
What  was  the  good  of  Puddimore,  she  demanded. 

"You  can't  expect  a  man  to  whom  you  give 
no  wages  at  all  to  be  able  to  do  a  special  job  like 
that." 

Tactlessly  perhaps,  but  certainly  with  all  gentle- 
130 


Pro  per  ties 

ness,  I  pointed  out  that  her  argument  had  the 
flavour  of  a  syllogism  about  it. 

"I  don't  care  if  it  tastes  of  sixty  silly  gisms," 
said  she  with  emphasis.  "I  know  I'm  right. " 

All  this  was  approaching  a  domestic  misunder- 
standing— what  in  the  papers,  they  might  call  a 
fracas — what,  when  we  wish  to  be  understood,  we 
call  a  blooming  row.  It  was  leading  up  to  what 
is  always  to  me  a  most  distressing  incident,  a 
quarrel  between  husband  and  wife.  And  yet — 
I  suppose  because  I  am  newly  married  myself — 
I  became  quite  interested  to  see  how  they  would 
acquit  themselves  before  a  third  party.  Blessed 
with  certain  qualities  of  character,  it  is  possible 
nine  times  out  of  ten  for  the  really  bitter  words 
to  be  avoided,  for  the  unforgiveable  things  never 
to  be  said. 

I  stood  by,  somewhat  callously  I  am  afraid, 
just  interested  to  see  whether  they  were  like  so 
many  married  couples  I  knew,  or  whether  they 
were  possessed  of  those  exceptional  characteristics 
by  which  these  disagreeable  affairs  are  avoided 
at  the  eleventh  hour. 

By  my  remark  about  her  quality  of  argument, 
I  had  applied  a  spark  to  the  tinder.  But  it  had 
not  been  done  intentionally.  I  was  ready  to 
intervene  before  the  worst  came  to  the  worst. 

131 


g>f)eep*km£  anb 

However  unintentional  that  remark  had  been, 
Cruikshank,  notwithstanding,  took  immediate  ad- 
vantage of  it. 

"You  can't  measure  a  man's  intelligence  in 
these  days,"  said  he,  "by  the  wages  you  pay  him. 
Puddimore's  no  fool.  He's  been  working  on  a 
farm  the  best  part  of  his  life,  and  that  sort  of  ex- 
perience is  better  than  all  the  theoretical  know- 
ledge these  vets,  get  at  a  veterinary  school.  Savage 
never  employs  a  vet.  at  all,  and  he  can't  give  you 
chapter  or  verse  for  a  single  thing  he  does.  He's 
learnt  by  experience,  and  the  experience  of  his 
father  before  him.  So  has  Puddimore. " 

"I  wouldn't  care  to  leave  my  life  to  the  tender 
mercy  of  Puddimore,"  said  she.  "You'd  get  a 
specialist  if  I  were  ill. " 

"Well,"  said  Cruikshank,  "that  cow  only  cost 
me  thirty-five  pounds."  He  left  the  delicate  in- 
ference at  that. 

Bellwattle  refused  to  smile. 

"That  seems  to  me  the  same  silly  sort  of  argu- 
ment," said  she.  "You  can't  measure  a  thing's 
value  by  what  you  pay  for  it. " 

She  said  this  with  heat  and  with  triumph.  If 
Cruikshank  could  beat  it,  it  was  up  to  him  to 
bring  her  to  her  knees.  I  looked  at  him.  Percept- 
ibly he  was  floundering.  She  waited  there  for  his 

132 


Dealing  properties 

answer,  like  a  prize-fighter  waiting  for  his  opponent 
to  take  the  count  upon  the  boards. 

What  would  he  do  if  he  could  find  no  reply? 
For  this  is  the  moment  when  these  quarrels  become 
serious ;  this  is  the  moment  when  a  man  calls  upon 
his  dignity  which,  in  these  matters,  is  like  resorting 
to  the  solicitor  whose  letters  complete  whatever 
breach  has  been  made  between  husband  and  wife. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  dignity  in  married 
life.  A  wife  knows  her  husband  for  a  silly  old 
fool,  no  less  than  he  knows  her  for  an  extravagant 
hussy,  and  the  sooner  they  come  to  a  mutual  under- 
standing of  their  characters,  the  better.  Dignity 
will  not  save  them. 

Like  the  family  solicitor,  Dignity  may  represent 
a  man  in  staid  terms  to  his  wife  as  a  fine  and 
knowledgable  fellow,  but  it  is  all  lawyer's  talk. 
No  amount  of  whereas's  or  whereinbefores  will 
add  one  inch  to  his  stature  in  her  eyes.  Nor  will 
any  caresses  or  soft  words  whispered  in  the  still 
night  in  his  arms  conceal  from  a  man  the  fact  that 
his  wife  is  an  extravagant  hussy. 

They  have  got  to  make  up  their  minds  to  it 
sooner  or  later,  always  allowing  themselves  the 
consolation  that  there  are  plenty  of  people  left 
in  the  world  before  whom  they  can  pose  as  hero 
and  heroine.  If  she  is  a  faithful  wife  she  will  not 

133 


anli 

give  him  away  when  he  tells  his  wittiest  story  at 
dinner  for  the  fortieth  time.  If  he  is  a  faithful 
husband,  he  will  admit  before  others  with  a  ready 
cheerfulness  how  absolutely  charming  his  wife 
looks  in  that  frock  which  has  well-nigh  broken  his 
heart  to  pay  for. 

Here,  anyhow,  was  the  moment  for  Cruikshank. 
Was  he  going  to  summon  his  dignity  to  help  him 
to  his  feet.  I  saw  him  try.  As  he  floundered 
there,  in  his  eyes  I  recognised  that  expression  as 
he  beckoned  it.  But  it  was  not  an  actual  com- 
mand. He  caught  the  look  turning  to  laughter 
in  Bellwattle's  eyes,  and  he  countermanded  his 
summons.  He  broke  out  into  laughing,  the  more 
likeable  for  its  quality,  because  she  could  see  it 
had  wrestled  with  dignity  before  it  came  to  his  lips. 

Still  laughing,  he  came  to  her,  taking  her  by 
both  shoulders. 

"This  farm's  an  investment,"  said  he.  "I 
can't  throw  money  away  on  a  vet.  if  Puddimore's 
capable  of  doing  the  job.  I'll  send  for  the  vet.  if 
Puddimore's  no  good.  I'll  have  the  beast  sent  up 
to  St.  George's  hospital  and  X-rayed  if  the  vet. 
can't  cure  her. " 

So  straight  to  Puddimore  we  went,  and  Puddi- 
more  who  has  more  sense  of  his  own  importance 
and  infallibility  than  any  man  I  have  ever  met, 

134 


Dealing  Properties 

assured  Cruikshank  that  everything  that  could  be 
done  was  being  done. 

"You  ngeave" — he  pronounced  his  1's  as 
though  they  were  n-g.  "You  ngeave  her  to  me, 
SUIT.  I've  cured  many  a  cow  with  ugow  before. 
I  know  awng  about  it.  I've  got  a  cure  for  she, 
and  it's  never  fainged  yet. " 

We  left  it  to  him  and  waited  for  results.  In- 
formed of  this  decision,  Bellwattle  waited  too, 
and  every  time  she  saw  Daisy  limping  out  into 
the  meadows,  she  pointed  her  out  to  Cruikshank. 

A  whole  week  went  by  and  Daisy  was  no  better. 
She  was  worse.  On  the  seventh  day  she  could 
no  longer  go  out  to  pasture.  She  had  to  be  fed 
in  her  stall  on  good  hay  and  mangolds  at  seven 
pounds  a  ton.  By  this  time  Cruikshank  was 
beginning  to  think,  and  readily  accepted  Bell- 
wattle's  suggestion  that  they  should  ask  Puddi- 
more  what  he  was  doing  in  the  way  of  a  cure. 

If  only  he  could  be  left  to  himself,  he  had  said 
mysteriously,  he  had  promised  that  Daisy  should 
be  well  in  ten  days,  and  except  for  seeing  him 
applying  poultices,  or  hearing  from  the  kitchen 
of  the  hot  fomentations  he  had  made,  we  knew 
nothing  of  the  treatment. 

Cruikshank  sent  for  him  and  told  him  that  in 
his  opinion  Daisy  was  considerably  worse. 

135 


&>beep0iun*  anto  (Step  l\ussct 

"If  you  can't  do  better  than  this,"  said  he, 
"I  shall  have  to  send  for  the  vet. ";  which  was  no 
less  than  a  threat  to  trample  Puddimore's  dignity 
in  the  mire.  "What  are  you  doing  for  it?"  he 
added.  "It's  all  Tommy-rot  making  this  mystery 
about  it.  You're  not  the  only  man  who  knows 
how  to  cure  'low.'  You'll  have  to  tell  me  what 
you're  doing,  and  if  I  think  it's  all  right  you  can 
go  on  with  it.  If  not,  I  must  send  for  the  vet. 
Come  on — out  with  it. " 

Very  reluctantly  Puddimore  muttered  some- 
thing about  hot-water  fomentations  drawing  the 
festering  matter  out  of  Daisy's  foot.  I  will  not 
write  down  -in  words  how  he  described  it. 

"And  is  that  all  you're  doing?"  asked  Cruik- 
shank,  impatiently. 

Puddimore  lowered  his  voice. 

"I've  got  an  old  hat,  surr, "  said  he,  "and 
I've  took  an'  hung  it  on  one  of  those  thorn 
hedges  down  by  the  orchard.  Time  that's  been 
there  ten  days  her'll  be  as  weng  as  ever  she 
was." 

I  cannot  quite  describe  the  look  in  Cruikshank's 
eye  when  he  heard  this.  There  was  certainly 
laughter  in  it,  but  then  so  many  other  emotions 
crowded  it  out  of  place. 

"You  hung  up  an  old  hat,"  said  he — but  then 
136 


Dealing  properties 

could  say  no  more.  We  walked  straight  out  of 
the  cowshed. 

"The  vet. '11  be  here  this  afternoon, "  said  Cruik- 
shank  as  we  went.  "You'd  better  come  along  to 
hear  what  he  says. " 

We  walked  in  silence  into  lunch,  and  about 
half-way  through  the  meal  Cruikshank  remarked — 

"I'm  sending  for  the  vet.  this  afternoon.  You 
see  I'm  not  so  pig-headed  as  you  imagine.  It's 
quite  possible  he  does  know  more  than  Puddi- 
more.  At  any  rate  I'm  going  to  give  him  a  chance. ' ' 

The  vet.  prescribed  Stockholm  tar,  and  when 
in  a  week's  time  Daisy  was  able — albeit  with 
difficulty — to  go  out  to  her  grazing  once  more, 
we  saw  Puddimore  lurching  across  the  orchard 
bearing  some  dirty  object  in  his  hand.  As  he 
approached  us,  he  held  it  up  in  triumph. 

"What  did  I  say,  surr!"  he  exclaimed,  with 
the  light  of  achievement  in  his  eye.  "I  knew 
awng  about  that  Stockholm  tar.  I  could  have 
told  'ee  the  vet.  would  recommend  that.  But  how 
about  this  here?  This  cured  'en. " 

We  were  standing  near  the  kitchen-garden 
where  a  pile  of  weeds  were  burning  with  that  de- 
licious aromatic  scent  of  fire  in  the  green  wood. 
On  a  sudden  impulse,  Cruikshank  seized  the  old 
hat  out  of  Puddimore's  hand,  and  with  his  stick 

137 


&>f)eepgbin£  anfc  <8>re$>  Gusset 

he  thrust  it  into  the  red  heart  of  the  smoking 
pile. 

"If  you  don't  want  to  make  yourself  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  the  whole  place,"  said  he,  "You'll 
never  talk  about  the  healing  properties  of  that 
blasted  hat  again. " 

But  I  have  been  wondering  quietly  to  myself 
since,  who  it  was,  Cruikshank  thought  would 
laugh  the  most,  and  whether  that  laughter  would 
ever  reach  Puddimore's  ears. 

Anyhow,  the  hat  has  left  no  trace. 


138 


Chapter  XVI 

BRINGING  HOME  THE 
MUCK  CART 


"  You  never  know  what 

is  going  to  turn  up  at 

a  sale." 


139 


CHAPTER  XVI 


BRINGING   HOME   THE  MUCK   CART 

EVER  once,  during  the  whole  time 
I  was  with  them,  did  Bellwattle 
go  to  the  market.  She  has  a  rooted 
idea  that  when  it  comes  to  the 
selling  of   their   beasts,  farmers 
are  cruel  to  them.     Cruel   is  a 
strong   word.      Perhaps  inconsiderate   would  be 
better. 

In  any  case  she  is  wrong,  but  will  not  be  per- 
suaded to  believe  it.  Nevertheless  it  is  as  well 
she  does  not  go  to  market,  for  if  the  farmer  as  a 
rule  does  care  for  his  beast,  the  dealer  certainly 
does  not. 

It  was  always  a  disgusting  sight  to  me,  watch- 
ing those  dealers  who  every  fortnight  came  by 
train  from  cities  within  a  radius  of  sixty  and 
seventy  miles  to  the  Tewkesbury  Market.  Their 
calling  was  written  on  the  pages  of  their  face,  and 
no  amount  of  the  liquor  they  consumed  could 
wash  away  the  stain  of  it. 

141 


Taking  him  all  round,  the  farmer  is  an  honest 
man.  His  calling  demands  it  of  him.  His  good 
name  insists  upon  it.  But  the  dealer  is  little 
better  than  a  charlatan  and  a  rogue.  His  job  is 
another  man's  labour,  his  energy,  the  sweat  on 
another's  brow,  and  his  wage  the  savings  he  can 
cajole  or  conjure  out  of  another's  pocket. 

The  dealing  spirit  is  ruining  farming  in  this 
country,  and  it  ought  to  be  taxed  out  of  existence 
until  it  becomes  a  calling  not  worth  a  man's  while 
to  follow. 

The  productive  spirit  is  that  alone  which  weighs 
in  the  balance.  But  so  long  as  the  dealers  and  the 
middlemen  can  make  their  handsome  profits  by 
the  picking  of  other's  brains,  and  sneaking  the 
fruit  of  another's  labours  the  dealing  spirit  will 
maintain  and  some  men  will  get  the  control  of 
what  never  belonged  to  them. 

This  dissertation  has  little  or  nothing  to  do  with 
my  friends  Cruikshank  and  Bellwattle,  yet  apart 
from  them  it  is  one  of  the  strongest  impressions 
I  received  during  my  stay  at  Lemington. 

That  dealing  spirit  encourages  no  virtue  that 
any  man  might  be  proud  to  possess.  Sharpness, 
shrewdness,  hard-heartedness  and  unscrupulous- 
ness,  these  are  the  qualities  a  dealer  must  cherish 
to  make  his  way  amongst  his  class,  whereby  it 

142 


Bringing  tyomt  tftc  #tucfe  Cart 

may  be  assumed  that  the  man  who  fails  has  some 
redeeming  virtue  about  him. 

The  farmers  themselves — doubtless  by  force 
of  competition — are  acquiring  the  spirit  too. 
There  was  one  man  I  met  while  I  was  down  there 
who  had  spent  three  good  working  days  persuad- 
ing an  old  spinster  lady  to  sell  her  litter  of  pigs 
at  a  price  upon  which  he  could  realise  a  substantial 
profit  in  the  market. 

In  an  unwise  moment,  and  without  consulting 
her  man,  she  had  said  she  would  part  with  them 
for  twenty-five  shillings  a  head.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  the  farmer  nailed  her  to 
that  price.  He  spat  on  his  hand  and  offered  it 
to  her  to  shake,  which  is  what  one  might  call  the 
sign  manual  of  a  bargain. 

She  tried  to  wriggle  out  of  so  swift  a  transaction. 
She  said  she  would  consult  her  man. 

"You  can  consult  your  man,"  said  he,  "but 
that's  a  bargain." 

Her  man  informed  her  they  were  worth  every 
penny  of  forty-five  shillings,  and  when  the  farmer 
came  over  the  next  day,  leaving  his  work  to  take 
care  of  itself,  she  informed  him  she  had  mentioned 
too  low  a  sum. 

' '  Mentioned ! "  he  bullied  her.  ' '  You  said  you'd 
take  that,  and  if  you  want  to  keep  to  your  word, 

143 


g>fjcepslunfli  anb 

that's  what  you  ought  to  take.  We  shook  hands 
on  it." 

The  following  day  he  came  over  again  and  saw 
her  man,  arranging  with  him  that  if  he  got  the 
pigs  for  twenty-five  shillings,  the  man  should 
have  a  shilling  a  head  on  them.  A  clear  profit  of 
nine  shillings. 

He  told  us  all  this  as  though  it  were  a  mighty 
clever  piece  of  business.  He  could  not  tell  us 
what  the  man  said  to  his  mistress,  but  he  got  the 
pigs  for  twenty-five  shillings  a  head,  and  he  sold 
them  for  forty-five  in  the  open  market  by  dint  of 
running  up  the  price  a  bit  himself. 

"Do  you  think  that  compensated  you, "  I  asked, 
"for  the  loss  of  three  days'  work  on  your  farm?" 

"It  was  a  smart  bit  of  business,"  was  all  he 
replied.  "If  I'd  left  she  alone  one  minute,  I'd 
have  lost  they  pigs. " 

It  was  never  this  spirit  that  made  England.  It 
is  never  this  spirit  that  will  keep  her  the  home  of 

"  This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world 
This  precious  stone  set  in  a  silver  sea." 

or  make  of  her— 

"  This  land  of  such  dear  souls,  this  dear,  dear  land, 
"  Dear  for  her  reputation  through  the  world." 

144 


Bringing  Timnt  ttjc  ^Huck  Cart 

He  was  a  dear  soul  indeed,  that  farmer,  and 
it  was  the  dealing  spirit  that  had  cherished  him. 

In  her  decision  then  about  the  markets,  Bell- 
wattle  is  quite  right.  The  dealers  have  no  con- 
sideration for  the  beasts  upon  whom  they  have 
lost  no  love  of  labour  in  the  breeding  and  whose 
rearing  has  cost  them  not  one  drop  of  sweat  upon 
the  brow. 

Their  very  expression  of  face  as  they  look  at 
a  beast  in  the  ring,  prodding  it  with  their  sticks, 
pinching  it  with  their  fingers,  would  give  one  the 
impression  that  farming  is  a  soulless  business,  if 
one  did  not  know  that  these  men  are  they  who 
mostly  live  in  cities,  and  have  no  swelling  of  the 
heart  at  the  sight  of  a  rich  green  field  or  know 
no  sense  of  hope  that  lifts  towards  summer  when 
first  the  cuckoo's  note  is  heard  above  the  trees. 

Bellwattle  does  not  go  to  market,  but  on  one 
occasion  she  came  with  Cruikshank  and  me  to  a 
sale  at  a  farm  some  distance  away.  You  never 
know  what  is  going  to  turn  up  at  a  sale — what 
bargains  may  not  be  found.  If  you  can  make  a 
day  to  spare,  it  is  often  profitable  to  go  there,  so 
long  as  it  is  not  too  far. 

This  sale  was  seven  miles  away.  The  car 
brought  us  there  in  a  few  minutes. 

But  it  was  an  unfortunate  choice  we  had  taken. 
145 


&>f)eep*km*  anfc  terep 

Into  the  ring,  composed  of  farmers  and  dealers 
in  the  farmyard,  they  drove  a  heifer  that  had  had 
its  eye  gouged  out  by  another's  horn.  The  beast 
was  bellowing  with  pain.  There  was  the  empty 
socket,  oozing  a  stream  of  blood. 

"She'll  go  cheap,"  I  heard  one  man  whisper 
eagerly. 

No  one  offered  a  hand.  She  was  driven  like 
the  rest  into  the  ring,  the  auctioneer  remarking 
that  she'd  had  an  accident,  and  would  be  blind  in 
one  eye,  but  he  ventured  the  suggestion  that  she 
had  not  lost  in  value  on  that  account. 

Cruikshank  thrust  his  way  through  the  crowd 
to  stand  in  front  of  Bell  wattle  so  that  she  might 
not  see.  There  was  nothing  that  could  really  be 
done.  The  beast  was  there  to  be  sold,  and  it  could 
only  be  hoped  that  the  man  who  bought  her  would 
do  the  best  he  could  for  it. 

He  pushed  his  way  in  front  of  her,  but  he  was 
not  quick  enough.  I  doubt  whether  it  would  be 
humanly  possible  to  hide  an  animal's  sufferings 
from  her. 

"Why,  it's  all  bleeding,  and  it's  in  terrible  pain ! " 
she  called  out  above  the  noise  of  the  bidding,  and 
nearly  every  man  around  that  ring  had  a  laugh  in 
reply  to  her. 

It  needs  an  amount  of  spirit  to  do  the  right  thing. 
146 


Bringing  5?omc  ttje  ^Hucfe  Cart 

It  needs  an  absolute  indifference  to  other  people's 
affairs  to  seize  and  control  a  situation  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment. 

We  might  have  stopped  the  sale  of  that  beast 
then  and  there.  We  might  have  gone  into  the 
ring  and  harangued  the  whole  lot  of  them,  auc- 
tioneer included,  if  we  could  have  made  ourselves 
heard  for  laughter.  But  it  had  to  be  done  on  the 
instant,  and  that  instant  spent  in  considering  it, 
made  it  too  late.  The  next  moment  the  heifer 
was  knocked  down  for  fifteen  pounds  and  was 
being  hustled  out  of  the  ring. 

We  found  Bellwattle  later  in  the  stall  where 
the  beast  had  been  driven.  She  was  talking  to  the 
buyer,  asking  him  what  he  was  going  to  do  to 
ease  the  poor  beast's  pain,  and  murmuring  the 
sort  of  gentle  consolations  she  addresses  to  animals 
in  distress.  God  knows  whether  they  bring  any 
relief.  Commonsense  impels  one  to  doubt  it,  yet 
the  sound  of  her  voice  on  these  occasions  is  as 
soothing  as  a  cool  pillow  to  an  aching  head. 

The  one  bargain  at  that  sale  which  Cruikshank 
secured,  was  a  muck  cart  for  thirty  shillings. 

As  the  hammer  fell  on  his  last  bid,  he  turned 
round  to  me  with  a  helpless  expression  on  his  face. 

"How  the  devil  am  I  going  to  take  it  home?" 
said  he.  And  I  could  not  tell  him. 

147 


anb 

We  went  round  from  one  man  to  another  trying 
to  hire  a  horse.  There  was  not  one  of  them  had 
a  horse  to  spare. 

The  solution  of  his  difficulty,  however,  was  not 
long  in  appearing.  There  was  an  old  cart-horse 
for  sale.  Bonny  was  her  name  and  bonny  indeed 
she  was,  but  bonny  in  the  sense  of  a  good  old 
dame  who  has  scores  of  great  grandchildren  to 
bear  her  name  down  to  posterity,  who  yet  with  all 
her  childbearing  has  kept  a  ruddy  pair  of  cheeks 
and  a  glistening  eye. 

Bonny  was  the  strangest  thing  in  the  way  of 
horses  I  had  ever  seen.  Her  back  had  that  slope 
in  it  which  somehow  from  my  childhood  I  have 
always  associated  with  a  circus  horse.  Her  mane 
and  tail  were  skittishly  long,  and  much  too  curly 
for  an  old  lady  of  her  age. 

I  heard  one  man  say  she  was  thirty-six  years 
old,  and  had  been  working  on  that  farm  when  he 
was  a  boy.  Nevertheless,  she  came  out  of  her 
stable,  prancing  like  a  stallion,  albeit  she  had  a 
lame  leg,  putting  her  hoof  to  the  ground  as  though 
she  were  laying  a  pancake  on  a  dish. 

The  moment  Bellwattle  saw  her,  she  loved 
her.  The  moment  she  had  fondled  the  soft  pouch 
under  her  chin,  I  knew  Bonny  was  as  good  as 
bought. 

148 


Home  tfje  fHucfe  Cart 

"She's  too  old.  She's  not  any  good,"  said 
Cruikshank  concealing  his  determination  to  buy 
her,  behind  Bellwattle's  passion  to  possess. 

There  was  no  scratching  of  noses  over  this  affair. 
It  was  open  and  above  board.  In  a  loud  voice  he 
offered  two  pounds  over  the  first  bid  of  thirty 
shillings. 

Stealing  a  glance  at  Bellwattle,  I  could  see  her 
heart  was  already  beginning  to  beat.  As  well  as 
the  desire  to  have  Bonny  for  her  own,  the  fever 
of  the  auction  had  caught  her.  Swiftly  she  was 
rising  to  that  temperature  when  you  feel  that  at 
all  costs  the  thing  must  be  your  own;  when  every 
bid  that  is  offered  against  you  is  a  direct  insult 
in  your  face. 

"Go  on,"  she  whispered.  "Go  on";  and  the 
bidding  rose  to  four  pounds. 

"Say  five,"  she  urged  him — "go  on,  say  five! 
Five  pounds  for  a  horse,  why  it's  perfectly  pre- 
posterous ! "  And  the  mere  calling  it  a  horse  made 
it  appear  in  the  guise  of  a  Derby  winner  to  her. 
She  could  not  conceive  a  horse  being  worth  more 
dead  than  alive,  and  to  the  dealer  in  dead  horses, 
having  no  more  value  than  its  skin  together  with 
what  could  be  sold  to  the  cats  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

"I  shall  say  five  if  you  don't!"  she  whispered. 
149 


anb 

"Five  pounds,"  said  Cruikshank,  in  the  heat 
of  that  moment,  believing  her  and  knowing  that 
he  would  have  to  pay  it  if  she  did. 

"Five  pounds,  gentlemen,  I'm  offered  for  this 
good  old  horse.  She's  got  another  two  years  hard 
work  in  front  of  her. " 

"We're  not  going  to  work  her  'hard,'  whispered 
Bellwattle. 

"Five  pounds!  Is  that  all  you're  going  to  allow 
me  to  say  for  her?  She's  served  the  owner 
well." 

"The  creature!"  interposed  Bellwattle. 

"She'll  serve  the  buyer  another  two  years  and 
more,  and  she'll  serve  him  the  same  way.  Come 
along  gentlemen,  five  pounds  is  poor  bidding  for 
a  willing  beast.  You'd  pay  that  much  in  five 
weeks  for  a  lazy  carter,  and  here's  an  animal  won't 
know  what  laziness  is  for  two  years  and  more. 
Come  along  gentlemen,  put  your  hands  in  your 
pockets!  I  can't  stand  here  all  day.  Let  me  say 
five  pounds  ten." 

Bell  wattle's  temperature  rose  another  degree. 

"Why  can't  he  knock  his  old  hammer  down!" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Very  well,  I  will,  madam,"  said  he,  and  the 
hammer  fell  on  his  book. 

"Anyhow — thank  God  I  can  get  my  muck  cart 
150 


Bringing  Centre  ttje  ^Itufe  Cart 

home,"  said  Cruikshank,  and  followed  the  auc- 
tioneer to  another  part  of  the  farm  where  he  was 
selling  a  collection  of  harness  that  would  have 
made  a  saddler  laugh. 


Chapter  XVI I 

FOUR  DUCKS 
ON  A  POND 


"One  of  them  turned  upside 

down  in  the  water  to  show 

how  little  he  cared." 


153 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FOUR  DUCKS   ON   A   POND 

SUPPOSE  a  week  must  have 
gone  by  since  Cruikshank  with 
that  glow  on  his  face  had  told 
me  of  Bellwattle's  great  expec- 
tations. Nothing  more  had 
been  said  by  him.  There  had 
been  no  allusion  to  it  by  her. 

I  watched  their  faces  for  any  sign  of  disap- 
pointment, but  there  was  none.  Very  obviously 
to  me  they  were  two  happy  people,  like  a  pair  of 
children  sharing  a  real  and  tremendous  secret, 
talking  about  it  only  in  the  corners  which  in 
married  life,  I  take  it,  are  those  half  hours  after 
the  candle  has  been  blown  out,  and  the  darkness 
alone  makes  a  whisper  of  everything  you  say. 

Often  in  those  seven  days,  I  wondered  how  it 
would  affect  the  farming;  whether,  with  a  young 
thing  of  her  own,  Bell  wattle  would  prove  so  con- 
scientious and  capable  a  rearer  of  calves.  I  had 
my  own  suspicion  that  the  mortality  amongst 

155 


&>i)eep*iting  anb 

young  cattle  at  Lemington  Court  was  likely  to 
go  back  to  fifty  per  cent.,  when  once  there  was 
one  of  the  young  breed  of  Townshend — which,  for 
those  who  do  not  recall  it,  was  their  name — shout- 
ing his  demands  through  the  stables  of  the  house. 

Whatever  sort  of  a  little  devil  he  might  be, 
there  were  bound  to  be  tricks  by  which  he  would 
endear  himself  to  Bellwattle's  heart.  He  might 
not  be  able  to  put  his  head  between  her  legs  and 
lift  her  off  her  feet — not  for  a  while  at  any  rate. 
But  he  would  have  fat  fingers,  and  he  would  have 
fat  toes,  all  of  which  would  need  counting  in 
Bellwattle's  terms  of  the  lower  mathematics. 
There  were  corners  he  would  insist  upon  for  him- 
self against  her  breast  and  in  the  hollow  of  her 
arm,  and  making  a  nest  for  him  in  these  places, 
I  calculated  would  be  more  engrossing  than  spread- 
ing a  bed  of  straw  for  a  sick  calf  which,  like  as 
not,  the  little  beast  might  toss  to  the  four  corners 
of  the  stable  in  five  minutes. 

I  was  very  eager  to  know  what  she  had  to  say 
about  it,  yet  timid  to  broach  the  subject  myself. 
It  may  fairly  well  be  assumed  that  women  have  a 
tremendous  sense  of  pride  in  these  matters.  To 
make  a  live  thing  that  is  going  for  so  many  years 
to  thrust  its  way  through  the  world  is  a  far  more 
tangible  and  praiseworthy  an  affair  than  the 

156 


Jfour  Bucks  on  a  ftonb 

creation  of  a  thousand  works  of  art.  For,  how- 
ever many  times  it  has  been  done  before,  each 
woman  can,  if  she  wills  it,  set  the  stamp  of  her 
originality  upon  the  finished  product. 

No  doubt  the  artist  will  say  that  he  creates 
out  of  nothing  less  than  the  functions  of  his  brain 
and  the  quality  of  his  imagination;  that  he  has 
none  but  himself  to  help  him  to  his  task.  But 
it  seems  to  me  that  while  a  child  may  be  built 
up  out  of  the  thousands  of  years  of  Nature's 
handicraft,  so  a  masterpiece  is  Nature's  handi- 
craft as  well,  and  no  more  than  a  culmination  of 
experience,  finding  its  expression  in  the  brain  of 
a  particular  man. 

As  for  having  none  but  himself  to  help  him  to 
his  task,  the  artist  who  tells  you  that  is  breathing 
what  they  call  the  hot  air  of  commercialism. 
There  is  some  woman's  influence  somewhere  at 
the  back  of  all  these  undertakings.  These  child- 
ren of  men's  minds  have  full  parentage,  and  the 
nobler  they  are,  the  more  plainly  will  be  confessed 
in  them  that  woman  who  sowed  the  seed  of  their 
being.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  misogamy  when 
it  comes  to  a  work  of  art,  and  no  such  creature  as 
a  misanthrope  ever  made  a  success  of  maternity. 

If  Otto  Weininger  was  an  artist,  which  is  open 
to  question,  he  nevertheless  hated  women,  but 

157 


df)eep*tu'n*  anb  <&rep 

only  because  they  would  not  permit  him  to  love 
them.  In  any  case  he  was  a  German.  And  if  my 
mind  seeks  for  instances  to  prove  my  case,  I  take 
but  one  step  to  find  the  name  of  Beatrice  and 
care  not  who  may  say  I  am  easily  content. 

I  was  indeed  eager  to  talk  to  Bell  wattle,  but 
came  to  the  conclusion  it  were  best  to  bide  my 
time  until  she  spoke  of  her  own  accord. 

Seven  days  as  I  have  said  had  gone  by,  and 
not  another  word  had  been  offered  by  Cruikshank, 
while  Bellwattle  had  been  absolutely  silent  on 
the  subject.  It  was  then  one  evening  while  I  was 
helping  her  collect  the  ducks  into  that  establish- 
ment which  Cruikshank  himself  had  built  for  their 
accommodation  by  the  pond,  that  she  spoke. 

Collecting  those  ducks  of  an  evening  was  a 
jolly  business.  They  could  not  be  left  out,  for 
heaven  only  knows  where  they  would  have  laid 
their  eggs,  and  the  early  morning  being  the  favour- 
ite time  for  the  depositing  of  their  little  works  of 
art,  they  had  to  be  shut  up  overnight  and  kept 
under  lock  and  key  till  so  to  speak,  they  had 
written  their  chapters  on  the  duck-house  floor. 

The  process  of  collecting  them  sounds  simple 
enough.  Evening  was  their  hour  of  feeding.  All 
you  had  to  do  was  to  fill  a  tin  basin  with  corn, 
go  through  the  farmyard  making  a  noise  with  it 

158 


Jfour  Bucks  on  a 

like  Cruikshank  did  with  the  cider-house  keys, 
and  whistle  all  the  while  a  long  note  that  died 
away  in  a  plaintive  diminuendo. 

From  every  quarter  they  came  at  once,  waddling 
after  you  in  a  streaming  line  as  you  walked  whis- 
tling to  the  orchard.  By  judicious  scattering  of  the 
corn  you  seduced  them  to  the  very  door  of  their 
house  and  then,  by  good  aiming,  throwing  the 
corn  inside  the  house,  you  inveigled  them  within. 

But  the  process  was  not  as  simple  as  it  sounds. 
Once  having  induced  them  to  compliance,  you 
had  to  shut  the  door,  and  without  exception,  every 
evening,  there  was  one  or  more,  feeling  no  move- 
ment of  those  inspirations  towards  the  creation 
of  a  masterpiece  in  the  early  morning,  who  man- 
aged, with  a  clatter  of  cries  and  a  beating  of 
wings,  to  escape  and  make  her  way  direct  to  the 
centre  of  the  pond,  where,  objecting  perhaps  on 
conscientious  grounds,  she  knew  she  was  safe 
from  coercion. 

Engaged  in  that  occupation  of  the  press-gang 
and,  as  we  walked,  whistling,  across  the  orchard, 
Bellwattle,  without  looking  at  me,  said  suddenly — 

"What  did  you  and  Cruikshank  talk  about 
that  second  evening  after  you  came,  when  you 
shut  yourselves  up  in  the  study?  The  night  I 
was  darning  socks ! ' ' 

159 


g>f)eepgfemg  anto 

I  looked  at  her  swiftly,  divining  she  did  not 
ask  because  she  wanted  to  know,  but  because 
she  knew,  yet  fearing  to  act  upon  this  instinctive 
assumption. 

"All  sorts  of  things,"  said  I  guardedly — "mostly 
the  farm  of  course. " 

She  paused  a  moment  and  then  she  added— 

"Did  he  tell  you?" 

I  was  not  going  to  be  caught  in  a  trap.  I  was 
determined  she  should  broach  the  subject  if  it 
were  to  be  broached  at  all.  A  woman  will  tell 
you  much  more  when  it  is  she  who  has  opened 
the  door  of  her  confidence.  If  it  is  you  who  force 
the  lock,  as  like  as  not  you  will  find  an  empty 
room. 

' '  Did  he  tell  me  what  ? "  I  inquired. 

She  hesitated,  and  then  there  was  the  most 
attractive  shyness  in  her  face  and  voice  as  she 
said — 

"Tell  you — that  I  was  going  to  have  a  baby?" 

I  was  glad  I  had  not  admitted  too  readily  my 
receipt  of  his  confidence.  I  should  have  missed 
that  look.  I  might  never  have  heard  that  note 
in  her  voice. 

It  reminded  me  of  a  moment  in  our  courtship, 
when  once  I  came  upon  Clarissa  making  a  gar- 
ment out  of  what  I  think  they  call — lawn.  There 

160 


jfotir  Bucks  on  a 

is  a  delicious  coolness  about  that  word.  It  is 
light,  like  a  breeze. 

I  asked  her  what  she  was  making  when,  taking 
my  eye  off  it  with  her  own,  as  a  conjurer  decoys 
away  the  eye  of  his  audience  from  the  purpose 
of  his  hands,  she  said — 

"Never  mind." 

The  look  in  her  eyes  then  was  more  dainty 
concealment  than  any  garment  of  the  finest  lawn 
her  fingers  could  ever  have  stitched. 

"Yes— he  told  me—"  I  replied  to  Bell  wattle— 
"I  can't  wish  you  more  happiness  than  you're 
hoping  for.  Didn't  you  want  him  to?" 

She  scattered  a  handful  of  corn  at  the  entrance 
to  the  duck's  house,  for  we  had  both  ceased  from 
whistling,  and  the  ducks  were  getting  bewildered 
at  the  alteration  of  their  invariable  programme. 
"I  told  him  not  to  tell  anyone,"  said  she,  "but, 
of  course,  you're  different,  A.  H. " 

I  was  glad  to  hear  her  say  that;  but  why  was 
I  different?  Perhaps  because  I  am  one  of  those 
ugly  devils  who  does  not  count;  one  of  those  ugly 
devils  a  woman  confides  in  as  she  would  put  away 
her  private  correspondence  in  a  strong  box  which 
sacrifices  all  pretensions  to  an  attractive  exterior 
in  order  to  give  place  to  security. 

But  if  I  wondered  about  her  confidence,  still 
11  161 


anb 

more  did  I  speculate  upon  her  reasons  for  not 
wishing  Cruikshank  to  tell  anyone  else.  In  silence 
I  made  my  speculations  whilst  she  collected  the 
ducks  into  their  house.  Four  little  beasts  es- 
caped and  fled  to  their  refuge  in  the  centre  of  the 
pond. 

After  cajoling  them  in  all  sorts  of  ways  from 
the  bank,  Bellwattle  gave  it  up  with  a  final  thrust 
at  their  refusal  to  oblige. 

"Well,  if  you  won't  lay,  you  won't ! "  she  shouted 
at  them,  and  one  of  them  turned  upside  down  in 
the  water  to  show  how  little  she  cared. 

"What  are  you  standing  there  thinking  about?" 
asked  Bellwattle,  looking  round  at  me. 

"I  was  wondering,"  said  I,  "why  you  didn't 
want  Cruikshank  to  tell  anyone.  I  thought  women 
were  proud  on  these  occasions. " 

She  slipped  an  arm  through  mine  and  we  stood 
there  looking  across  the  pond. 

"So  proud,"  she  replied  in  a  low  register  of 
her  voice,  "so  proud  that  they're  mighty  afraid  of 
making  a  failure  of  it  all.  So  proud  that  some- 
times they  daren't  believe  it's  true.  So  proud  that 
they'd  let  their  husbands  think  it  was  just  a  com- 
mon-or-garden affair  that  had  to  be  put  up  with 
for  fear  it  might  never  have  to  be  put  up  with  at 
all." 

162 


jfour  Bucks  on  a 

"But  why  should  you  be  so  tremulous  about 
it?  "I  asked. 

"I  shouldn't  have  been,"  said  she,  "if  it  had 
happened  the  first  year  we  were  married.  One 
expects  that — counts  on  it.  But  when  seven 
years  go  by  and  you  begin  to  feel  you're  different 
to  every  other  woman  in  the  world;  when  seven 
years  go  by  and  you've  been  standing  like-  some 
one  waiting  on  the  crest  of  a  hill  looking  for  miles 
down  a  moorland  road,  watching  for  a  traveller 
who  never  comes,  it's  hard  to  believe  it's  true — 
it's  hard  to  believe  it's  really  him  when,  in  that 
distance,  just  where  the  road's  wound  out  to  its 
thinnest  thread,  you  see  a  little  dim  figure,  which 
seems  at  first  as  if  it  wasn't  moving  at  all.  There 
and  then,  you  don't  rush  home,  I  can  tell  you, 
shouting  out  at  the  top  of  your  voice  that  he's 
coming.  You  sort  of  hug  yourself  to  yourself — 
you  wouldn't  know  what  that  meant — and  the 
only  thing  you  do  is  that  instead  of  standing  up 
you  sit  down  and  you  look  away  for  as  long  as  you 
can.  Sometimes  you  count  a  hundred,  and  it 
seems  like  a  thousand.  And  then  you  look  round 
and  the  dim  figure  is  still  there,  but  as  far  as  you 
can  remember,  it  doesn't  seem  to  have  moved 
at  all.  It  moves  very  slowly,  that  dim,  little  figure, 
A.  H.,  and  the  road  is  nine  mile  long. " 

163 


anb 

I  dropped  my  hand  into  hers  and  I  gripped  it. 

"He'll  arrive  all  right,"  said  I,  "this  traveller 
of  yours,  and  he'll  bring  all  sorts  of  splendid  things 
in  his  pack.  You'll  think  back  one  of  these  days 
and  wonder  why  you  ever  doubted. " 

And  then  I  turned  her  with  my  arm  and  pointed 
before  us — somehow  it  seemed  applicable — 

"  Four  ducks  on  a  pond,"  I  quoted — 
A  grass  bank  beyond; 
A  blue  sky  of  Spring, 
White  clouds  on  the  wing." 

and  did  not  realise  how  it  might  be  turned  until 
she  continued — 

"  How  little  a  thing 
To  remember  for  years, 
To  remember  with  tears !  " 


164 


Chapter  XVI 1 1 
RED  TAPE 


"Hea-a-a  Wazt  Hea-a-a  Was  I" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


RED   TAPE 

HEN  driving  pigs  in  that  part 
of  Gloucestershire,  you  beat 
the  ground  before  you  with  a 
long  stick,  uttering  at  the 
same  time  in  guttural  tones 
the  cry,  "Hea-a-a  Waz! 
Hea-a-a  Waz!" 

Even  then  you  are  lucky  if  you  get  one  out  of 
ten  to  its  destination. 

There  is  a  lot  to  be  written  of  pigs,  their  treat- 
ment, their  profit  possibilities,  but  God  forbid  this 
chronicle  should  have  anything  in  the  nature  of 
a  text  book  about  it.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  to 
describe  their  habits,  not  so  much  for  the  benefit 
of  those  who  would  rear  them,  but  in  illustration 
of  the  devil's  own  nuisance  they  can  be. 

I  never  look  back  upon  those  months  at  the 
farm  as  to  an  association  with  a  money-making 
concern,  so  much  as  a  series  of  adventures.  Cruik- 
shank  kept  about  twenty  pigs,  and  certainly  he 

167 


£>i)ee])*fcfn*  anb 

made  money  out  of  them.  They  paid  extraordin- 
arily well.  But  what  he  suffered  and  what  Bell- 
wattle  endured  because  of  those  pigs,  will  make 
far  better  reading  to  any  but  those  who  imagine 
that  in  this  volume  they  are  going  to  find  sound 
advice  as  to  how  they  can  make  money  out  of 
their  acres. 

Bellwattle  had  a  remote  corner  in  her  heart  for 
pigs,  that  is  to  say  they  had  to  take  their  chance 
with  her  heart,  and  the  only  chance  they  had  was 
when  they  were  young,  pink  or  sooty-black  and 
in  that  condition  of  nakedness  which  makes  a  way 
for  any  young  thing  into  a  woman's  affections. 

As  they  grew  old  and  fat  and  lazy,  in  fact  the 
nearer  they  approached  the  gates  of  the  market, 
the  further  did  they  leave  Bellwattle's  interest  in 
them  behind. 

To  put  it  briefly,  Bellwattle  comes  to  them  with 
a  spoon  in  her  hand,  and  leaves  the  sty  directly 
Cruikshank  appears  with  the  scales. 

As  well,  she  likes  their  antics,  as  she  likes  all 
animals  when  they  are  little  devils.  But  it  was 
their  antics  which  nearly  brought  Cruikshank 
with  grey  hairs  in  sorrow  to  his  grave. 

Rightly  or  wrongly  he  had  an  idea  that  it  was 
a  good  thing  to  put  young  pigs  out  in  the  orchard 
to  graze  and  fend  for  themselves  for  a  good  month 

168 


before  he  proceeded  to  fatten  them.  He  said  they 
made  bone  to  carry  their  flesh. 

With  the  amount  of  exercise  they  achieved 
during  that  month,  it  is  quite  probable  he  was 
right.  But  he  had  to  pay  for  their  bone.  There 
is  no  hedge  grown  in  England  that  will  keep  a 
young  pig  in  its  own  field.  There  is  no  pasture 
so  delectable  to  a  young  pig  as  that  on  your  next 
door  neighbour's  farm. 

Almost  every  day  word  was  brought  to  Cruik- 
shank  that  his  pigs  were  wandering  in  adjoining 
fields,  and  though  the  farmer's  language — what 
you  might  expect  a  farmer's  language  to  be  in 
respect  of  pigs — was  delivered  without  respect  of 
persons,  I  fancy,  as  I  look  back  upon  it  all,  that 
it  was  justified. 

Then  on  these  occasions,  Cruikshank  would 
run  for  his  big  stick  and  go  beating  through  the 
fields,  shouting  out  his — "Hea-a-a  Waz!  Hea-a-a 
Waz ! "  and  adding  other  remarks  which  an  anxious 
publisher  intent  upon  the  morals  of  his  public 
would  ask  me  to  delete  were  I  to  write  them  down. 

I  do  most  honestly  think  that  farmer  was  jus- 
tified in  every  temperature  of  his  wrath,  the  more 
so  when  I  remember  how  he  had  pigs  of  his  own. 

Going  out  on  to  the  road  one  morning,  Cruik- 
shank and  I  found  a  herd  of  them — ten  at  least — 

169 


anb  <8rcp 

strolling  towards  the  house  with  that  obstinate 
expression  in  their  faces  as  though  they  would 
stand  no  interference.  By  successful  strategy 
we  turned  them  back  when,  with  casual  indiffer- 
ence, they  strolled  through  the  farmer's  garden- 
gate  which  he  had  left  open,  and  what  they  did 
there  in  the  way  of  damage  for  the  next  hour  or 
more,  I  can  only  imagine.  I  must  admit  my 
imagination  makes  me  chuckle.  For  apparently, 
after  a  glorious  hour,  they  returned  to  their  stys, 
and  lay  down  with  all  that  apparent  innocence 
which  only  a  pig  can  assume. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  farmer  was  at 
the  door  of  the  Court,  declaring  in  language  he 
meant  us  not  to  misunderstand,  that  Cruikshank's 
pigs  had  been  in  his  garden.  He  was  not  in  that 
state  of  lucidity  of  intelligence  to  understand  our 
explanations.  Blood  runs  easily  to  the  head  of 
any  man  when  he  is  talking  about  the  piracy  of 
pigs. 

By  minute  description  of  the  herd,  however,  I 
fancy  we  made  it  clear  to  him  whose  pigs  they 
were,  wherefore  I  feel  amply  justified  in  according 
him  all  the  sympathy  he  truly  deserves  for  the 
excursions  of  Cruikshank's  beasts.  He  was  a 
gentle-mannered  man  when  the  blood  was  not 
in  his  head,  and  I  have  seen  him  of  a  Sunday  in 

170 


his  orchard  walking  with  his  arm  around  his  wife. 
I  believe  he  was  a  churchwarden  too. 

Truly,  fattening  and  selling  pigs  are  not  the 
only  things  that  happen  in  one's  dealings  with 
them.  * 

I  was  with  Cruikshank  once  when  he  bought 
three  of  the  most  miserable  looking  little  creatures 
I  had  ever  seen.  There  was  a  vein  of  false  economy 
in  Cruikshank 's  disposition,  partly  stimulated  I 
do  believe  by  that  same  flair  he  had  for  everything. 

Obviously  these  pigs  were  not  worth  the  buying. 
I  believe  they  all  had  rickets,  and  were  husky  into 
the  bargain.  In  answer  to  the  prods  of  various 
farmers'  sticks,  they  rose  laboriously  to  their  feet 
only  to  fall  recumbent  in  another  corner  of  the 
pen. 

The  bidding  started  at  ten  shillings  a  head. 
The  man  who  offered  it  hoped  it  would  never  be 
taken.  With  an  effort  they  went  to  fourteen 
shillings. 

"I'll  just  make  one  bid,"  said  Cruikshank, 
"they  might  pick  up  if  I  feed  'em  well. " 

This  was  his  flair.  He  believed  in  himself.  He 
was  sure  he  could  make  healthy  beasts  of  them. 
He  offered  fifteen  shillings,  and  as  they  were 
knocked  down  to  him,  I  heard  a  farmer  near  by 
mutter — 

171 


anb  (Step 

"He  must  want  pigs  bad." 

One  of  those  pigs  certainly  pulled  through,  and 
sold  in  the  open  market  for  ninety-five  shillings. 
But  one  of  the  others  died.  Given  a  bed  in  an  old 
canvas  trunk,  it  was  brought  in  its  sickness  by 
Bellwattle,  and  nursed  near  the  kitchen  fire.  If  I 
remember  rightly,  Cruikshank  discovered  her 
giving  it  some  of  his  best  liqueur  brandy  out  of  a 
spoon,  and  in  reply  to  his  expostulations,  she 
retorted — 

"Well,  you  bought  it  cheap. " 

Bellwattle's  conception  of  money  is  that  of  a 
millionaire's.  If  a  thing  is  bought  cheap,  she  will 
contrive  to  make  it  expensive  before  she  has  done 
with  it,  or  she  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  all. 
You  can  make  a  cheap  pig  cost  no  end  with  in- 
ternal applications  of  liqueur  brandy,  for  however 
sick  a  pig  is,  it  knows  a  good  thing  when  it  tastes  it. 
Notwithstanding  all  these  attentions,  the  pig 
died,  whereupon,  consistent  with  all  the  requisi- 
tions of  red  tape,  notice  had  to  be  given  immedi- 
ately to  the  police.  I  have  never  seen  a  case  of 
swine  fever,  and  am  sure  it  is  to  be  avoided  like 
the  plague,  wherefore  every  pig  that  dies  is  as- 
sumed to  have  had  swine  fever  until  it  is  proved 
to  the  contrary. 

In  immediate  reply  to  Cruikshank's  notifica- 
172 


JUb  t£ape 

tion,  there  came  a  veterinary  surgeon  and  a  solemn 
official  who  held  long  confabulations  over  the 
body  of  the  little  beast  lying  in  its  canvas  coffin. 
Then  they  took  it  away  to  a  shed  where  we  all  tried 
our  hardest  not  to  think  of  the  operations  that  were 
being  performed  on  the  body  of  our  late  invalid. 

We  never  knew  what  conclusion  they  came  to, 
but  they  killed  two  other  healthy  little  grunters 
whose  tails  might  that  morning  have  come  out  of 
curling-papers  in  such  state  of  health  they  were. 

"What  did  they  do  that  for?"  asked  Bellwattle, 
incensed  beyond  measure  when  they  had  gone. 

"To  see  what  the  other  pig  died  of, "  said  Cruik- 
shank.  "You  must  remember  the  Board  of  Agri- 
culture is  a  Government  institution.  It  has  to 
justify  its  expenditure  to  the  Treasury,  and  you 
can  guess  what  the  Treasury  officials  know  about 
pigs.  They  send  round  pamphlets  on  scientific 
farming,  and  every  farmer  I  know  reads  them  like 
the  funny-story  page  in  Tit-Bits.  But  it  helps  to 
accumulate  the  annual  bill  of  expenditure. " 

All  this  worked  Bellwattle  into  a  frenzy. 

"It's  positively  iniquitous!"  she  cried. 

"They  gave  me  the  price  I  paid  for  the  pigs," 
said  Cruikshank. 

"Where  do  they  get  the  money  from?"  she 
asked. 

173 


anb 

"There, "  I  interposed,  "you've  got  at  the  crux 
of  it  all.  It's  the  habit  of  human  nature  and  the 
principle  of  Governments  to  be  lavish  with  other 
people's  money.  What  do  you  imagine  a  Treasury 
official  cares  for  my  three  shillings  or  whatever  it 
is  in  the  pound  ?  He's  spending  money  from  a  well- 
nigh  illimitable  fund,  supplied  by  people  he  doesn't 
know  from  Adam.  We've  made  life  into  such  a 
bundle  that  it  has  to  be  tied  up  with  red  tape,  and 
not  only  do  we  have  to  pay  for  the  tape,  but  we 
have  to  pay  officials  to  know  it. " 

Bellwattle  thrust  into  her  basket  for  a  pair  of 
socks  and  began  darning.  I  could  see  by  her 
stitches  what  she  felt. 


Chapter  XIX 
PUBLIC  SPIRIT 


"Every  house  has  its  pump, 

and  three   or  four  of  them 

boast   of  the   best   water  in 

the  village." 


175 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PUBLIC   SPIRIT 

RUIKSHANK  convened  a  meeting 
of  the  farmers  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Occupying  one  of  the 
largest  houses  in  the  village,  the 
vicar  was  invited  to  attend.  It 
was  occasioned  by  the  following 
circumstances. 

The  village  of  Lemington  lies  some  half  mile 
or  so  away  from  the  main  road  from  Tewkesbury 
to  Gloucester.  Half  way  between  the  village  and 
the  road  there  has  been  erected  within  recent 
years  a  home  for  incurables,  and  so  far  as  this 
home,  but  no  farther,  the  water  has  been  laid  on 
from  the  main  supply.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  away 
lies  Lemington,  dependent  entirely  upon  its  wells. 
Every  house  has  its  pump,  and  three  or  four  of 
them  boast  of  the  best  water  in  the  village.  The 
remainder  are  content  to  admit  that  their  water  is 
far  from  good. 

When  Cruikshank  told  me  he  had  not  had  the 
177 


and 

water  in  his  well  analysed  at  the  time  of  purchase, 
I  made  no  comment.  My  silence  gave  him  a 
furious  thought,  for  he  asked  quickly  whether  I 
thought  he  ought  to  have  done  so. 

"You  make  your  house  your  mistress,"  said  I; 
"it's  not  for  me  to  criticise  the  way  you  chose 
her.  If  she  has  imperfections,  I  expect  you're 
passionately  enough  attached  to  her  to  overlook 
them." 

He  went  away  thoughtfully  and  out  of  my 
bedroom  window  I  saw  him  ten  minutes  later 
drawing  a  glass  of  water  out  of  the  pump  outside 
the  kitchen-door,  looking  at  it  against  the  light, 
and  drinking  it  with  long  delays  upon  his  palate 
as  if  it  had  been  a  glass  of  good  old  '67. 

Apparently  it  was  quite  all  right  for  a  time,  but 
then  they  had  a  two  days'  flood  in  the  river  that 
runs  by  the  Crooked  Withy  meadow,  and  the  im- 
perfections of  his  mistress  became  apparent  then. 
It  might  be  said  she  became  slovenly  in  appear- 
ance, and  took  to  wearing  a  most  objectionable 
scent,  for  suddenly,  one  morning,  we  found  the 
water  a  dirty  colour,  and  the  odour  of  it  drove  us 
straight  to  the  cider  store  for  drinking  purposes. 

It  grew  worse  rather  than  better,  and  then 
Cruikshank  took  it  into  Gloucester  to  the  analyst 
who,  with  all  his  glass  retorts  and  his  reagents, 

178 


ic  Spirit 

sent  in  a  report  that  made  our  hair  stand  on  end. 
The  amount  of  bacteria  to  the  cubic  centimetre 
was  apparently  enough  to  accommodate  fifty 
epidemics.  In  conclusion  his  report  stated  it  was 
quite  unfit  to  drink. 

"Why  in  the  name  of  Heaven,"  said  Cruik- 
shank  as  he  read  this  through  at  breakfast — "Why 
in  the  name  of  heaven  they  haven't  got  enough 
public  spirit  to  get  the  water  laid  on  from  the  main 
supply  when  it's  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  I 
can't  understand. " 

"The  birth  of  public  spirit,"  said  I,  "is  in- 
dividual necessity.  You  can  only  rear  it  to  ma- 
turity by  a  general  need. " 

He  was  in  no  mood  for  subtleties  and  paid  not 
the  slightest  attention  to  what  I  said. 

"I  shall  call  a  meeting  of  the  farmers  round 
here, "  he  declared,  "and  see  what  can  be  done. " 

So  the  historic  meeting  was  convened.  Cruik- 
shank  wrote  a  very  able  letter  setting  forth  the 
needs  of  the  parish,  and  calling  upon  the  public 
spirit  of  the  farmers  to  come  and  meet  him  one 
evening  at  the  Court  to  see  what  could  be  done 
in  the  way  of  finding  the  remedy  for  a  common 
evil. 

I  think  that  evening,  when  the  large  sitting 
room  was  prepared  for  their  arrival,  Cruikshank 

179 


g>f)eep*fetn*  anU  (Srep 

felt  somewhat  like  King  John  at  Runnymede 
about  to  meet  the  Barons.  He  fussed  about  the 
house,  giving  orders,  and  in  that  mood  was  com- 
pletely superior  to  and  almost  unconscious  of 
Bellwattle.  Obviously  it  was  an  affair  of  the 
public  commonweal  with  which  the  feminine  mind 
could  not  aspire  to  cope. 

With  a  gentle  obedience,  Bellwattle  took  her 
place  in  the  background,  whispering  to  me — 
"They'll  all  have  something  to  drink,  so  I  expect 
they'll  enjoy  themselves.  I'm  sure  Cruikshank 
will." 

I,  too,  am  certain  that  he  did.  When  they  were 
all  arrived  and  comfortably  or  uncomfortably 
seated  in  their  chairs  according  to  their  ease  of 
mind  at  being  in  a  strange  house,  Cruikshank 
stood  up  in  front  of  the  fireplace  and  addressed 
them. 

He  painted  livid  pictures  of  epidemics  as  he 
had  read  of  them.  He  might  have  been  talking 
of  the  Black  Death,  and  as  though,  in  the  last 
week,  it  had  strode  into  their  midst. 

"You  may  have  to  be  lending  your  muck  carts 
to  take  the  dead  bodies  to  the  graveyard,"  said 
he,  and  then  I  knew  he  had  been  reading  his  his- 
tory of  England  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I. 

Through  all  this  harangue,  I  looked  at  their 
1 80 


"  Cruikshank  stood  up  in 

front  of  the  fireplace  and 

addressed  them." 


181 


&f)eep*&in*  and 

faces,  and  upon  my  soul  I  don't  know  whether 
they  appreciated  the  extent  of  his  eloquence  or 
not.  It  was  true  enough  that  the  need  for  a  com- 
mon water  supply  was  vital  to  the  health  of  the 
village,  but  none  of  them,  like  Cruikshank,  had 
an  analyst's  report  in  their  pockets,  giving  evi- 
dence of  myriads  of  bacteria  in  the  water  they  had 
to  drink. 

To  begin  with  it  would  raise  the  rates  in  the 
parish,  in  addition  to  which  the  Urban  District 
Council  required  the  guarantee  of  a  certain  sum 
of  money,  some  three  hundred  pounds  I  think  it 
was,  before  they  would  undertake  to  begin  the 
necessary  work.  It  would  have  been  returned, 
of  course,  but  it  represented  a  sum  of  capital  which 
I  can  quite  understand  none  of  them  were  eager 
to  invest. 

It  was,  no  doubt,  a  twinge  of  his  conscience, 
the  feeling  of  that  report  in  his  breast  pocket  so 
close  to  his  heart,  which  made  Cruikshank  offer 
to  put  up  that  sum,  if  one  and  all  they  would 
consent  to  attach  their  names  to  an  appeal  he  had 
already  drawn  out  to  be  sent  to  the  Urban  District 
Council. 

They  all  of  them  were  willing  but  one  man. 
Not  very  long  ago,  his  landlord  had  sunk  a  new 
well  in  his  grounds  and  the  water  was  excellent. 

182 


fta  blu 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should  pay  extra  rates  for 
a  water  supply,"  said  he,  "when  what  I've  got 
suits  me  all  right." 

Cruikshank  got  excited,  talked  about  public 
spirit,  and  tried  to  shame  him  into  signing  the 
paper,  for  it  was  essential  that  all  their  names 
should  appear.  An  Urban  District  Council  does 
not  spend  other  people's  money  for  other  people's 
good  unless  it  is  forcibly  driven  to  it. 

But  no,  he  would  not  sign.  Why  should  he? 
I  had  made  my  remark  about  public  spirit  half  in 
jest,  but  I  was  beginning  to  believe  how  true  it 
was.  His  well  gave  him  an  excellent  supply.  Why 
should  he  pay  extra  rates  for  an  advantage  that 
would  serve  everyone  but  himself? 

It  was  really  a  matter  for  the  general  health, 
but  an  Urban  District  Council  would  require  to  see 
it's  epidemic  first  before  it  operated. 

I  rose  tentatively  and  suggested  that.  Let  them 
produce  an  epidemic,  I  proposed,  and  then  the 
Urban  District  Council  would  do  the  work  without 
any  demand  for  a  guarantee  at  all. 

I  was  trying  to  disclose  the  humour  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  apparently  I  succeeded,  for  a  quiet 
farmer,  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  cleared 
his  throat  and  addressed  himself  to  the  one  with- 
holder. 

183 


&>i)eep*kin£  an& 

"Don't  Mr.  Townshend's  land  lie  a  bit  higher 
than  your'n?" 

He  had  to  admit  it  did. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  he  sink  a  well  for  'enself, 
just  above  your'n,  and  then  your  well'ud  run 
dry?" 

I  took  out  my  handkerchief  and  concealed  the 
best  part  of  my  face  in  it  as  I  blew  my  nose. 

"I  could  sink  my  well  deeper,"  said  the 
farmer. 

"And  for  every  foot  you  sunk  yours,"  said 
Cruikshank,  "I  could  go  on  sinking  mine." 

They  all  signed. 

The  document  was  duly  despatched  to  the 
Clerk  of  the  Urban  District  Council  and  there  in 
the  records  I  imagine  it  remains  to  this  day,  a 
notable  document  in  the  archives  of  the  history  of 
Tewkesbury. 

By  the  time  the  Clerk  of  the  Urban  District 
Council  had  signified  his  receipt  of  the  document, 
the  floods  had  abated  in  the  river  and  the  water 
had  cleared  in  Cruikshank's  well.  With  its  return- 
ing clarity,  all  Cruikshank's  public  spirit  had 
disappeared. 

Alluding  to  the  whole  affair  two  months  later, 
he  said — 

"Well,  I  did  my  best.  It'll  not  be  my  fault 
184 


Spirit 

if  one  day  they  contract  typhus  fever  and  die  like 
flies.    Come  and  have  a  glass  of  cider. 

I  really  believe  he  thinks  he  is  a  public  bene- 
factor thwarted  in  the  philanthropy  of  his  heart's 
desires. 


185 


Chapter  XX 

MOWING  THE 
SHILSHARD  FIELD 


'''  H^$^      "Puddimore  mowed  down 
y\-if        ^  first  nne  of  f^e  *  $hil- 

shard' field." 


I87 


CHAPTER  XX 

MOWING   THE   SHILSHARD  FIELD 

OOKING  back  upon  it  all,  along 
the  lines  of  the  generous  perspec- 
tive of  time,  my  recollections  of 
the  haymaking  bring  me  the 
warmest  memories.  That  is  as  it 
might  be  expected.  Haymaking 
is  generally  suggestive  of  holiday  time,  yet  it  is  as 
no  holiday  that  I  remember  it.  Making  eighty 
tons  of  hay  when  it  has  to  be  made,  lest  good 
money  should  be  absolutely  lost,  has  no  re- 
semblance to  wandering  into  a  hayfield,  and 
giving  a  hand  at  tossing  a  few  swathes  over  in 
the  sun,  or  building  a  few  hay-cocks  in  order  to 
make  a  cup  of  tea  taste  better  than  it  ever  tasted 
before. 

When  you  have  to  do  it  and  do  it  on  as  large 
a  scale  as  this,  haymaking  is  as  hard  a  labour  as 
any  I  know.  Yet,  however  hard  it  is,  there  is  a 
glamour  about  it  which  no  other  agricultural  work 
can  quite  equal. 

189 


&>fjecpsUins  anb  (frrcp 

It  is  the  very  beginning  of  the  summer;  the 
first  harvest  of  all.  You  are  not  gathering  in  the 
lateness  of  the  year,  rather  it  is  the  youth  of  it 
in  all  the  freshness  of  its  green.  It  is  not  the  hard 
dry  stubble  you  leave  behind  you  as  the  knives 
go  through  the  standing  blades,  but  a  rich  green 
bed  from  which  yet  another  harvest  may  be 
reaped  before  the  year  is  sped. 

And  the  scent  of  it  and  the  heat  of  it  (for  no 
one  who  has  ever  made  hay,  unless  their  disposition 
be  incorrigibly  morbid,  will  associate  the  under- 
taking with  foul  weather),  and  the  light  of  those 
early  mornings  when  first  you  harness  the  horses 
to  the  mower,  seeing  that  all  is  ready  before  you 
give  the  first  flick  of  the  long  rope  reins,  these  are 
conditions  of  the  whole  proceedings  which  make 
it  shine  in  your  memory,  and  shine  the  brighter 
as  the  years  fall  in  between. 

That  first  note  of  the  mowing  machine  which, 
when  one  morning  as  you  rise  from  your  bed,  tells 
you  that  some  farmer  has  begun  his  cutting,  is 
like  the  keynote  of  the  summer's  oratorio.  For 
the  days  to  come,  that  will  be  the  note  upon  which 
all  melody  of  the  music  of  the  land  is  played. 
Up  and  down  the  fields  those  instruments  will 
play  in  unaffected  orchestration,  till  the  day  throbs 
with  their  tune. 

190 


fflototng  tt)c  g>fjtlsrtjarb  Jfielb 

Never  shall  I  forget  that  first  morning  when, 
overnight,  the  mower  had  had  its  finishing  touches, 
and  at  four  o'clock,  past  daybreak,  was  brought 
out  into  the  "Shilshard"  field.  There  was  the 
chill  of  dew  in  the  air  and  that  pale  light  which 
promises  a  burning  day.  With  the  first  few  steps 
into  the  grass  our  boots  were  soaked  with  wet. 
In  the  hedges  and  the  elm  trees,  the  birds  were 
singing  intermittently,  those  waking  notes  which 
always  seem  to  me  as  though  they  can  scarce 
believe  the  daylight  has  returned  again.  There  is 
the  spirit  of  wonder  in  them. 

The  horses  were  half  asleep  as  they  were  led 
to  the  pole  of  the  machine  and  harnessed.  They 
walked  as  though  it  were  a  dream.  We  were  half 
in  a  dream  ourselves.  With  the  sounds  of  labour, 
the  whirring  knives,  the  cries  to  the  horses,  the 
inevitable  pauses  and  the  sudden  cessations  of 
noise,  we  were  soon  to  be  awake.  But  until  it 
began,  it  was  all  like  the  action  of  a  fairy  tale,  the 
building  of  a  castle  in  a  night,  or  the  emptying  of 
a  lake  with  a  thimble  for  a  bucket. 

There  waved  the  acres  of  grass  before  us,  and  in 
that  pale  light  of  early  morning,  with  the  sleep  still 
in  our  eyes,  it  might  have  been  a  thousand  acres 
instead  of  sixteen  for  all  the  possibility  there  seemed 
of  getting  the  smallest  portion  of  it  cut  that  day. 

191 


£>ijecpsktns  anb 

Plucking  a  handful  of  grass  to  make  a  cushion 
for  himself  on  the  iron  seat,  Puddimore  mounted 
to  his  place,  and  took  the  long  rope  reins  in  his 
hands.  No  whip  he  needed,  for  he  could  crack 
those  rope  reins  on  the  horses'  flanks  till  the  beasts 
jumped  forward  in  their  harness.  We  felt  in  that 
moment,  he  was  like  an  intrepid  pilot  setting  out 
upon  a  voyage  across  the  limitless  sea. 

I  think  he  caught  that  spirit  of  expectation 
from  us  both,  for  he  made  the  most  of  it.  There 
was  something  histrionic  in  the  way  he  looked 
at  us  when  all  was  ready.  Truly  histrionic  he  was 
in  his  gestures  as  he  raised  the  rope  reins  in  his 
hand,  and  with  a  flick  of  the  wrist  made  them 
resound  with  a  loud  report  on  the  horses'  sides, 
crying  out  their  names  as  he  did  so — 

' '  Hey-up  Short !    Hey-up  Prince ! ' ' 

And  then  with  the  sudden  roar  of  the  pulsing 
knives,  the  rattle  of  the  wheels  and  the  jangling 
of  harness,  he  was  launched  out  into  the  sea  of 
meadow  grass.  The  voyage  was  started.  Our 
haymaking  was  begun. 

As  long  as  I  live — insignificant  though  it  may 
be — I  shall  remember  that  moment.  We  had 
talked  of  it  for  so  many  days  beforehand.  So 
many  calculations  had  been  made  of  the  yield 
of  hay  to  the  acre,  and  the  price  it  would  fetch. 

192 


Jftototng  tfjc  g>f)ite!)arb  Jfielb 

So  many  speculations  had  been  indulged  in  about 
the  prospects  of  the  weather.  Five  or  six  times 
a  day,  Cruikshank  had  consulted  his  weather- 
glass in  the  hall. 

And  now  it  had  begun.  I  can  see  the  grass  fall- 
ing down  prostrate  in  tumbling  waves  as  though 
by  magic  before  those  relentless  knives.  I  can  see 
the  dust  of  pollen  and  scattering  seed,  which,  like 
dust  on  a  highway,  spread  out  in  clouds  on  the 
morning  air  in  the  wake  of  the  machine. 

I  can  hear  the  notes  of  the  birds  rising  to  a 
livelier  measure  when  once  they  realised  man 
had  begun  his  work  for  the  day,  and  there  was 
food  for  them  to  be  gathered.  I  can  hear  the 
cries  of  Puddimore  to  the  horses  dying  away  in 
the  distance  of  the  field.  I  can  see  that  look  of 
pride  in  Cruikshank's  face  as  he  came  to  wake- 
fulness  and  the  realisation  of  labour.  I  can  taste 
that  first  scent  in  my  nostrils,  that  scent  of  new- 
cut  grass,  damp  with  the  dew,  which  is  unlike 
any  other  perfume  in  the  world.  It  is  not  the 
scent  of  hay.  There  are  many  scents  like  that. 
The  dried  leaves  of  Woodruffe  will  concentrate 
the  scent  of  a  whole  hayfield  in  a  little  bowl.  It 
is  more  a  taste,  than  a  scent,  that  odour  of  new- 
cut  grass.  You  find  it  cool  on  your  tongue;  you 
swallow  it  and  still  it  runs  cool  through  your  veins. 
13  193 


£>f)eep*fem*  anb 

It  is  like  the  essence  of  some  nectar  that  is  both 
chill  and  sweet. 

So  we  stood  that  morning  while  Puddimore 
mowed  down  the  first  line  of  the  "Shilshard" 
field.  But  before  he  had  got  to  the  bottom  of  the 
line,  the  machine  had  stopped  with  a  sudden  jerk. 

The  damned  fool  had  let  the  rope  reins  dangle 
between  his  legs,  and  they  had  got  caught  in  the 
open  cogwheels  of  the  machine.  There  they  were, 
enmeshed  so  deep  that  nothing  on  earth  could 
extricate  them.  For  an  hour  or  more  all  work 
was  at  a  standstill,  and  it  was  half-past  four  in 
the  morning. 


194 


Chapter  XXI 

PUDDIMORE 

ACTS 
SUSPICIOUSLY 


"Obviously  more  engaged 

in  looking  at  the  windows 

of  the  house" 


195 


CHAPTER  XXI 


PUDDIMORE   ACTS    SUSPICIOUSLY 

HIS  mishap  was  only  the  begin- 
ning of  our  troubles.  By  the 
time  we  had  tried  to  burn  the 
rope  out  of  the  cogs  with 
paraffin;  by  the  time  Cruik- 
shank  had  barked  his  knuckles, 
and  sliced  his  hand  with  a  knife  employed  in 
cutting  the  confounded  stuff  away  which,  with 
the  close  pressure  of  the  cogs  had  been  crushed 
to  the  hardness  and  consistency  of  wood;  by  the 
time  he  had  lost  his  temper  and  was  swearing  at 
Puddimore,  and  Puddimore — now  robbed  of  all 
histrionic  glamour  was  almost  in  tears,  it  was 
close  on  breakfast  time. 

Then  Bellwattle  came  out  to  the  field  where, 
with  patience  and  a  hat-pin,  she  extricated  the 
obstructing  rope  from  the  wheels.  The  relief  was 
so  great  that  we  all  went  into  our  meal,  deter- 
mined to  make  a  fresh  start  when  a  little  food 
and  cups  of  hot  tea  had  made  other  men  of  us. 

197 


anb  <8rep 

Puddimore  tentatively  inquired  about  the  re- 
filling of  his  bottle  of  cider.  It  was  an  old  cham- 
pagne bottle.  Each  of  us  had  brought  one  out 
for  his  own  consumption.  Ours  lay  half -finished 
under  the  hedge,  covered  over,  by  Puddimore's 
advice,  with  grass  lest  a  thief  might  find  it  while 
we  were  away  in  the  house. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you've  finished  that 
already?"  asked  Cruikshank. 

He  looked  at  the  bottle  sadly  and  turned  it 
upside  down. 

"Well,  do  you  think  you  deserve  it?"  said 
Cruikshank. 

"No,  surr,  'twas  a  foolish  thing  to  have  done 
to  drop  they  reins  in  the  cogs,  but  I  told  'ee  when 
'ee  was  buying  the  machine  at  the  sale,  'twas  no 
good  'un,  though  'ee  got  it  cheap.  They  new 
machines  have  their  cogs  in  a  box,  and  nothin' 
can  get  at  'en.  I  were  a  damned  fool,  SUIT — blast 
the  reins — but  'twill  be  a  hot  day  for  an  empty 
bottle." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  want  that  bottle  kept 
filled  all  day?" 

"Come  haymakin'  time,  surr,  Mr.  Sniff  gave 
me  awng  the  cider  I  could  drink.  Doan't  'ee  sweat 
it  out  as  fast  as  'ee  put  it  in?  'Ee  can't  work 
haymakin'  dry,  SUIT.  The  grass  cuts  better  with 

198 


the  dew  on  it,  and  a  man,  he'll  work  twice  as  weng 
with  a  drop  of  sweat  on  his  forehead. " 

Cruikshank  took  the  bottle  without  another 
word  and  brought  it  to  the  cider  store.  I  have 
never  known  him  be  able  to  refuse  a  man  with  a 
touch  of  philosophy  in  him.  I  must  confess  it 
would  have  gone  hard  with  me  to  refuse  him  my- 
self. Already  it  had  become  the  burning  day  it 
promised.  The  cogwheels  were  cleared.  Work 
was  ahead  of  us,  and  the  immediate  prospect  of 
a  hearty  breakfast. 

Spleen  is  a  good  thing  when  all  the  world  has 
gone  wrong  as  it  had  with  us  early  that  morning. 
But  a  man  who  taints  his  application  of  justice 
with  it  makes  a  sour  thing  of  life. 

"Here  you  are.  Take  your  breakfast,"  said 
Cruikshank,  handing  him  the  bottle,  full  to  the 
neck —  "And  don't  you  ask  me  for  another  drop 
till  we've  got  a  dozen  lines  of  swathes  lying  down 
in  that  field. " 

I  should  like  to  be  able  to  describe  the  look  in 
Puddimore's  eye.  It  was  more  than  a  twinkle. 
It  was  a  glitter  as  of  one  who  has  contracted  a 
fine  bargain  or  found  something  he  had  scarcely 
dared  to  look  for. 

"He's  a  fine  genklemung, "  he  muttered  again 
to  me  as  Cruikshank  turned  away,  and  then  I 

199 


anb 

knew  that  Cruikshank's  appreciation  of  that  com- 
pliment was  correct.  He  meant  that  Cruikshank 
was  a  damned  fool,  but  one  whose  folly  it  were 
well  to  profit  by. 

It  was  while  we  were  upstairs,  sluicing  our 
faces  with  cold  water  before  breakfast,  that  Cruik- 
shank called  me  peremptorily  to  his  room. 

"Come  here,  A.  H. !"  he  shouted,  "Come  here 
as  quick  as  you  can ! " 

I  ran  with  the  towel  in  my  hands  and  the  cold 
water  dripping  from  my  face. 

He  pointed  out  of  the  window,  saying,  "What's 
he  doing?  Watch  him.  What's  he  doing?" 

It  was  Puddimore,  with  all  ostentation,  busily 
engaged  in  trying  a  spare  set  of  knives,  with  the 
horned  flesh  of  his  old  thumb,  but  obviously  more 
engaged  in  looking  at  the  windows  of  the  house. 

"Can  he  see  us  from  there?"  I  asked. 

"Not  if  we  keep  well  behind  these  curtains. 
He's  up  to  something.  If  ever  a  man  was  guilty 
of  premeditation,  there  he  is. " 

Certainly  every  movement  he  made  was  sus- 
picious. There  was  no  more  sense  in  his  ringers 
to  the  sharpness  of  those  blades,  or  if  there  were, 
it  conveyed  no  impression  to  his  mind.  He  was 
intent  upon  some  other  purpose,  a  purpose  plainly 
enough  affected  by  observation  from  the  house. 

200 


•Pttb&tmore 

If  the  walls  have  ears,  then  certainly  every 
window  of  a  house  is  an  eye  to  a  man  who  has 
some  guilty  project  in  his  mind.  But  Puddimore's 
histrionic  abilities  which  had  been  of  a  superior 
quality  at  that  moment  when  he  began  our  hay- 
making in  the  "Shilshard"  field,  were  distinctly 
inferior  now.  He  was  trying  to  pretend  he  was 
busily  engaged  upon  a  definite  purpose,  yet  never 
did  a  man  appear  more  preoccupied  in  his  life. 

Having  apparently  satisfied  himself  that  we 
were  all  downstairs  at  breakfast — seeing  his  own 
habits,  it  was  so  far  cute  of  him  to  realise  that  we 
might  have  gone  upstairs  for  a  wash — he  laid 
down  the  mowing-knife,  and  walked  slowly  out  of 
the  farmyard. 

"Come  on!  Into  Bellwattle's  room, "  muttered 
Cruikshank;  "We  shall  be  able  to  watch  him 
from  there." 

He  was  not  in  sight  when  first  we  arrived  at 
Bellwattle's  window,  but  presently  he  appeared, 
walking  slowly,  leisurely,  with  his  head  bent,  but 
as  one  who  might  well  be  listening  intently  for  the 
sound  of  footsteps  behind  him. 

"Where's  he  going?"  I  asked. 

"To  the  hayfield,"  said  Cruikshank,  with  the 
triumph  of  discovery. 

"But  what  for?"  I  inquired.     I  have  not  got 

201 


anb 

Cruikshank's  capacity  for  the  flair.  There  was 
no  illumination  for  my  intelligence  at  that  moment. 
I  was  thinking  of  his  mishap  with  the  reins,  won- 
dering if  they  could  have  something  to  do  with  it. 

Cruikshank  laughed. 

"You  think  it  over,"  said  he,  "while  we  have 
breakfast,  and  if  you  haven't  got  it  by  then,  I'll 
show  you  later." 

"You're  not  going  to  follow  him?" 

"No — no  need  to. " 

Well — I  thought  it  over.  All  through  breakfast 
I  was  silent  while  they  talked  of  the  work  they 
could  get  through  before  sunset,  of  how  many 
could  be  spared  from  the  house  to  come  and  help, 
of  where  they  should  have  tea  in  the  fields,  and 
whether  it  were  better  or  no  to  come  into  lunch 
or  have  it  brought  out  in  a  basket. 

"Are  you  ready  now,  A.  H.  ?"  asked  Cruik- 
shank, lighting  his  pipe. 

"Ready  for  anything, "  said  I,  and  we  went  out 
together. 

As  we  walked  across  to  the  hayfield,  I  thought 
he  must  have  forgotten  about  Puddimore  in  the 
more  absorbing  interest  of  the  work  that  lay  in 
front  of  us. 

Taking  off  our  coats  and  hanging  them  on  the 
hedge,  he  asked  me  then  suddenly  whether  I  had 

202 


$)ubbtmore 

thought  out  the  mystery  of  Puddimore's  move- 
ments. 

"Was  it  anything  to  do  with  the  machine?" 
I  suggested,  feeling  I  was  particularly  dull  that 
morning,  and  attributing  it  to  the  unexpected  hour 
of  rising. 

"A.  H.,"  said  he  solemnly,  "I  think  you  know 
a  good  deal  about  women.  Sometimes  it  seems 
to  me  you  understand  Bellwattle  better  than  I  do. 
But  I'm  damned  if  you  know  any  thing  about  men." 

And  with  that  he  stooped  down,  picking  up  our 
two  cider  bottles  from  under  their  covering  of 
grass.  They  were  both  as  dry  as  bones. 


203 


Chapter  XXI I 
PUDDIMORE  EXPLAINS 


"I  see  a  tramp  man,  surr, 
come  along  the  road." 


205 


CHAPTER  XXII 


PUDDIMORE   EXPLAINS 

LACING  the  bottles  back  again 
Cruikshank  hid  them  beneath 
their  cover  of  grass,  and  we  went 
away  to  the  machine  to  make  a 
final  examination.  The  patience 
of  the  woman  in  Bellwattle,  pick- 
ing away  with  that  hatpin  of  hers 
for  more  than  a  hour,  had  removed  every  trace  of 
rope  from  the  congested  cogwheels.  All  was  ready 
for  the  fresh  start,  and  once  that  was  fairly  made, 
there  was  nothing  but  the  endurance  of  the  horses 
and  the  willingness  of  the  driver  to  interfere  with 
the  best  part  of  the  field  being  cut  that  day. 

While  we  were  standing  there,  Puddimore  came 
out  with  Short  and  Prince.  Everything  was  put 
ready  again,  and  for  the  second  time  that  morning 
the  launch  was  made,  but  it  was  not  so  effective 
as  before  in  those  early  hours.  The  cloud  of  seed 
and  pollen  could  scarcely  be  seen  in  that  bright 
light.  There  was  no  sudden  breaking  of  the 

207 


&fjeep*fun*  anfc 

moving  stillness.  By  that  time  the  land  was 
awake.  There  was  the  note  of  other  mowing 
machines  on  the  neighbouring  farms,  the  sound 
of  their  voices  muted  by  distance  as  they  shouted 
to  their  horses  turning  at  the  meadow's  edge. 

However,  it  was  exciting  enough,  seeing  our 
Juggernaut  start  off  well,  with  that  clear,  rhythmic 
shurr  of  the  knives,  and  the  steady  falling  of  the 
mown  grass.  So  exciting  was  it,  that  for  the 
moment  we  forgot  all  about  the  cider.  The  first 
corner  had  to  be  turned.  We  should  know  fairly 
by  then  how  the  horses  were  going  to  work  together. 
So  much  of  the  success  of  the  haymaking  depended 
upon  that,  and  except  for  the  auctioneer's  guar- 
antee of  their  capabilities  in  a  mowing  machine 
when  he  bought  them,  Cruikshank  knew  nothing 
of  their  willingness  in  harness. 

Farther  and  farther  in  the  distance  of  the  field, 
Puddimore,  bobbing  up  and  down  on  his  iron  seat, 
sunk  down  below  the  horizon  of  the  high-grown 
grass.  By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  end,  he 
was,  as  they  would  say  of  a  ship,  hull  down.  Al- 
most we  held  our  breath  to  listen.  The  hum  of  the 
knives  deepened  as  he  slowed  down.  It  ceased 
altogether.  Then  we  heard  his  voice  raised  to 
exasperation  as  he  shouted  to  the  horses. 

' '  He's  got  off, ' '  said  Cruikshank.  ' '  Something's 
208 


$ubtmnore  Explains 

wrong.  They  won't  work  together,  or  there's 
something  the  matter  with  the  machine.  How 
the  devil  are  we  going  to  cut  seventy-five  acres 
at  this  rate!  My  God!  Here's  the  weather  and 
everything  splendid  and  we're  going  to  be  hung 
up  like  this!" 

He  was  taking  it  terribly  seriously.  There  was 
a  deep  and  moving  note  of  tragedy  in  his  voice. 
It  might  have  been  the  Day  of  Judgment,  and  he 
unprepared  to  meet  it. 

Behind  the  machine,  standing  on  the  ground, 
we  could  see  Puddimore  dragging  violently  at  the 
horses,  heeling  them  back  and  shouting  at  the  top 
of  his  voice. 

"He's  getting  on  again,"  said  I,  irresistibly 
responding  to  the  fever  of  the  moment.  And  sure 
enough  he  had  mounted  his  iron  seat  once  more. 
We  saw  him  crack  the  reins,  we  heard  the  regular 
whirr  of  the  knives  again  as  he  started  down  the 
other  side,  and  Cruikshank  drew  a  deep  breath 
of  relief. 

At  the  second  corner  there  was  a  delay,  and 
again  at  the  third.  Each  time  he  had  to  dismount 
either  to  clear  the  knives  or  get  the  horses  into 
position.  But  at  last  he  came  round  again  to 
where  we  stood  and  there  was  a  wholly  unjustified 
look  of  triumph  on  his  face. 
'4  209 


£>f)eep*iun*  ant)  <@rep 

I  realised  then  that  none  of  this  play-acting 
would  he  have  indulged  in  had  he  been  working 
for  an  experienced  farmer.  He  was  just  doing 
his  job,  neither  well  nor  ill,  and  a  farmer  would 
have  cursed  him  up  hill  and  down  dale  for  stop- 
ping then,  just  when  he  had  got  the  horses  going 
nicely. 

But  Puddimore  knew  his  Cruikshank  for  a  fine 
"genklemung, "  and  he  stopped  to  get  his  meed 
of  praise  with  the  usual  accompaniment  to  wash 
it  down. 

"There  be  the  first  round  of  your  first  field, 
surr, "  said  he,  as  he  dismounted  and,  with  a  face 
wearing  the  innocence  of  a  child,  walked  to  the 
hedge  to  get  his  bottle  of  cider. 

I  waited  for  Cruikshank  to  curse  him  back  to 
his  seat.  But  that — first  round  of  his  first  field — 
had  done  the  trick.  He  was  mighty  pleased.  I 
could  see  it  in  his  face. 

"Are  they  going  to  go  all  right  together?"  he 
asked  of  the  horses. 

"After  I've  had  a  round  or  two  with  they 
beasts,"  said  Puddimore,  "there  won't  be  no  two 
horses  in  the  place  to  touch  'em.  They'ng  go 
together  sweet  as  two  children,  they'ng  go.  I've 
had  deangings  with  horses  awng  me  life.  What  I 
doan't  know  'bout  horses  ain't  worth  no  man 

210 


fJufcbimore  Explains 

telling  'ee.  You  give  me  time,  SUIT,  and  I'll  have 
awng  they  acres  cut  and  made  into  finer  hay  as 
ever  'ee  did  see.  When  I  were  at  Berkngney 
Castle " 

Cruikshank  apparently  had  heard  much  of  his 
agricultural  exploits  at  Berkeley  Castle,  and  there 
being  a  limit  to  which  self-praise  is  sufferable, 
the  remembrance  of  the  empty  cider  bottles  came 
suddenly  into  his  mind.  Concealing  a  wink  for 
my  benefit,  he  went  to  the  hedge,  and  fetched  out 
our  two  bottles,  saying  as  he  did  so — "Well,  we'll 
all  have  a  drop  and  wish  it  success. " 

I  stole  a  glance  at  Puddimore.  His  expression 
was  as  bland  as  a  child's,  and  he  raised  his  bottle 
to  his  lips,  tilting  it  up  to  help  him  keep  it  so. 

Cruikshank's  astonishment  at  his  discovery 
was  simulated  in  a  masterly  manner. 

"Why — they're  empty!"  he  exclaimed. 

Puddimore  kept  his  bottle  tilted. 

"They're  empty,  Puddimore!"  Cruikshank 
repeated. 

Puddimore  lowered  his  bottle  and  looked  across 
at  us. 

"Empty?"  said  he;  "Why,  how  be  that?" 

"I  don't  know  how  it  be,"  replied  Cruikshank, 
"But  there  it  is.  Both  of  'em.  Dry  as  a  bone." 

Laying  down  his  bottle  on  the  grass,  Puddimore 

211 


anH  <f>rep  Russet 

came  across  with  gradually  awakening  interest  and 
carefully  examined  the  corks. 

"I  was  wondering  might  it  be  they  leakin'  out, 
SUIT,  "  he  suggested. 

"Leaking — !  How  could  they?  The  corks 
were  in  as  tight  as  a  drum. " 

He  took  one  of  the  bottles  in  his  hand,  as  a 
detective  might  examine  an  object  found  upon 
the  scene  of  a  murder.  Then  he  looked  myster- 
iously all  about  the  field. 

"Who  do  you  think  had  it?"  asked  Cruikshank. 
"It's  been  stolen.  There's  no  doubt  about  that. " 

Puddimore  beetled  his  brows  and  thought  it 
all  out  with  consummate  care. 

"The  boys  do  be  gettin'  in,  surr,  through  the 
gaps  and  holes.  These  hedges  want  mendin' — 
bad  they  want  mendin',  and  I  must  see  to  'em, 
soon  as  this  hay  be  cut.  I've  mended  hedges  awng 
me  life.  If  you  want  a  hedge  mended,  you  can't 
get  a  better  man ' 

That  herring  was  not  strong  enough  of  scent 
for  Cruikshank.  He  kept  to  the  trail. 

"I  want  this  thing  explained,"  said  he;  "I'm 
not  going  to  have  thieves  on  my  farm.  You  were 
about  the  place  while  we  were  in  at  breakfast. 
Didn't  you  see  anyone?" 

"I  see  a  tramp  man,  surr,  come  along  the  road 
212 


Dubbimore 

while  I  was  trying  they  other  set  of  knives.  But 
I  were  only  in  the  yard  an'  he  went  by  'long  the 
road." 

' '  What  was  he  like  ?    Describe  him — carefully. ' ' 

The  inventive  genius  of  Puddimore  was  now 
being  stretched  to  its  uttermost.  The  perspira- 
tion was  beginning  to  stand  out  on  his  forehead  as, 
prompted  by  Cruikshank,  he  clothed  and  described 
in  every  detail  this  creature  of  his  imagination. 

Simmering  with  suppressed  laughter,  I  could 
not  help  but  realise  what  a  thing  of  training  after 
all  the  imagination  is.  His  was  as  rusty  and  as 
creaking  as  an  old  hinge,  yet  backwards  and  for- 
wards Cruikshank  bent  it,  first  this  way — then 
that.  With  superhuman  effort,  he  succeeded  in 
describing  in  every  particular  the  tramp  he  had 
seen  going  down  the  road. 

"What  colour  was  his  hair? "  asked  Cruikshank. 

"He — he  had  dark  hair,  surr. " 

"But  I  thought  you  said  he  wore  a  cap?" 

"An' so  he  did." 

"How  could  you  see  the  colour  of  his  hair 
then?" 

"Well — surr — "  he  paused,  nearly  at  a  loss 
he  was  then  but,  wriggling  till  the  last,  he  managed 
to  extricate  himself  with  a  fine  imaginative  con- 
tortion— "He  took  off  his  cap  and  he  scratched 

213 


&f)eep0fetng  anb 

his  head  as  he  came  by  the  gate.     'Twas  then  I 
saw  the  colour  of  his  hair. " 

Cruikshank  swallowed  in  his  throat. 

"Didn't  you  follow  him  to  see  what  he  was  up 
to?" 

"No,  surr.    I  was  busy  trying  they  knives." 

"But  didn't  you  see  him  when  you  went  across 
tothehayfield?" 

' '  I  never  said  I  went  across  to  the  hayfield,  surr. ' ' 

"No — you  never  said  so — but  I  saw  you  from 
Mrs.  Townshend's  window." 

There  was  one  moment  when  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  give  in.  Cruikshank  thought  so  too. 
We  could  all  feel  it  in  the  air  about  us.  He  knew 
then  we  were  quite  aware  who  had  taken  the 
cider.  Yet  in  a  last  courageous  effort  at  the 
balance  of  his  dignity,  he  caught  hold  of  the  cal- 
culation that  though  Cruikshank  had  seen  him 
go  into  the  field,  he  could  not,  through  the  screen 
of  the  hedge,  have  seen  him  actually  drinking  the 
cider. 

"I  went  into  the  field,  surr,  to  get  the  stone 
to  sharpen  one  of  they  spare  blades,  and  now  I 
come  to  think  of  it  I  did  hear  a  sound  in  the  hedge, 
as  would  be  someone  movin' — but  I  seed  no 
tramp,  surr — no — I  seed  no  tramp.  If  I'd  seed 
the  tramp  that  would  ha'  made  things  clear  as 

214 


ftofcfcimore  explains 

daylight.  But  I'm  always  for  the  truth  an'  can't 
abide  they  liars.  I  seed  no  tramp. " 

At  times  Cruikshank  can  introduce  the  look  of 
a  gimlet  into  his  eye.  He  turned  it  upon  Puddi- 
more  then,  and  to  give  Puddimore  his  due,  I  must 
admit  he  suffered  the  process  of  its  piercing  into 
his  mind  like  a  Spartan.  Never  once  did  he  flinch, 
and  when  Cruikshank  burst  out  laughing,  I'm 
damned  if  he  did  not  laugh  as  well. 

"Oh!  get  back  on  to  your  machine,"  said 
Cruikshank,  "and  let's  have  some  work  done  and 
less  talk  about  it.  When  you've  got  a  dozen 
swathes  cut  round  the  field,  we  can  begin  to  talk 
about  haymaking. " 

Still  bearing  the  pride  of  innocence  in  his  face, 
Puddimore  arranged  his  grass  cushion,  mounted 
his  seat  and  started  off. 

Once  again  we  watched  his  old,  round  shoulders 
bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  waves  of  the  grass. 
To  me,  as  I  took  the  impression  from  his  departing 
figure,  he  was  like  an  old  and  crafty  dog  who  had 
stolen  a  bone,  and  just  got  away  with  it  in  time 
before  he  had  been  found  out.  He  knew;  both  of 
us  knew  well  enough,  he  would  have  all  the  sym- 
pathy of  Bellwattle  when  the  tale  came  to  be  told 
in  the  house.  She  loves  an  adventurer.  She  has 
a  soft  corner  in  her  heart  for  the  canny  thief. 

215 


£>f)eep*fctn*  anfc 

I    don't    know    why    the    deuce    she    married 
Cruikshank. 

For  the  rest  of  that  day  the  horses  worked  like 
brothers  together.  Half  the  field  of  hay  was  lying 
prostrate,  with  flocks  of  pigeons  busy  at  their 
evening  meal,  before  the  sun  dropped  down  behind 
the  Mendip  hills. 


216 


Chapter  XXI 1 1 
GREAT  DAYS 


' '  Cruikshank  from  his 
armchair    was    gratui- 
tously     offering      him 
•words  of  wisdom." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


GREAT   DAYS 

VERYBOD Y  from  the  boot-boy  up- 
wards was  called  out  of  the  house 
into  the  fields  to  help  in  the  hay- 
making. It  is  the  only  kind  of 
work  outside  their  sphere  to  which 
I  have  ever  seen  servants  come 
willingly.  Little  wonder  can  be  found  for  that. 
Strenuous  as  the  work  may  be,  it  is  a  holiday  for 
them,  a  holiday,  moreover,  out  of  which  there  is 
generally  some  profit  to  be  made.  The  first  com- 
pleted rick  and  the  last,  no  less,  are  moments  when 
the  farmer  feels  generously  disposed  towards 
everyone. 

It  was  the  boot-boy,  as  I  remember  him,  who 
left  his  labours  most  willingly  of  all;  as  well,  it 
was  the  boot-boy  who  did  least  work  of  any  of 
them.  He  was  the  laziest  and  dirtiest  little  imp 
I  had  ever  come  across.  More  out  of  sympathy 
than  conviction,  Cruikshank  had  given  him  a 
job  in  the  house.  He  was  an  orphan,  living  in 

219 


anU 

the  neighbourhood  in  the  care  of  his  aunt,  a  decent, 
respectable,  spinster  woman  who  had  taken  him 
out  of  charity,  and  was  far  too  sweet  of  nature  and 
mild  of  temper  to  ever  bring  up  with  success  a 
young  devil  like  that. 

Applying  for  his  situation  herself,  she  had  told 
Cruikshank  she  found  him  a  bit  of  a  handful,  and 
would  be  thankful  indeed,  if  he  got  a  good  job 
where  he  would  be  kept  in  order.  Having  that 
same  flair  for  the  training  of  dogs,  no  less  than  for 
the  upbringing  of  children,  Cruikshank  took  him 
on  at  once. 

"I'll  look  after  him,"  said  he  in  that  firm  tone 
of  voice  which  always  brings  conviction  whenever 
he  uses  it  and,  on  this  occasion,  sent  the  spinster 
aunt  away  with  a  heavy  load  lifted  from  her  mind. 

But  she  did  not  know  Bellwattle's  Cruikshank, 
and  had  had  no  word  with  Bellwattle  on  the 
matter.  She  did  not  know  that  the  flair  with 
Cruikshank  is  a  guttering  business,  somewhat  like 
a  candle  in  its  expiring  moments ;  very  bright  while 
it  lasts,  but  apt  to  die  right  out  into  darkness. 

For  the  first  week  or  so,  certainly,  Cruikshank 
kept  an  eye  on  him;  had  him  occasionally  into 
his  study  when  he  began  to  show  signs  of  slackness, 
and  read  him  what  I  am  sure  were  most  excellent 
homilies  on  the  vice  and  folly  of  idleness. 

220 


©reat 

"I'll  make  something  of  that  boy  yet,"  said 
he — but  Cruikshank  is  the  creative  temperament. 
He  makes  something  of  so  many  things.  I  have 
known  him  buy  a  bench,  a  whole  expensive  set 
of  carpentering  tools  and,  in  a  heated  enthusiasm 
begin  to  work  on  the  repairing  of  old  furniture. 
When  he  had  mended  the  veneer  on  a  mahogany 
chest  of  drawers  with  wood  he  had  obtained  from 
an  old  cigar  box,  I  have  seen  him  close  the  door  of 
his  carpentering  shed,  and  never  enter  it  again  for 
weeks.  He  takes  his  chaff  well  on  these  matters 
from  Bell  wattle,  who,  when  she  can  be  persuaded 
to  do  a  piece  of  work  will  not  lift  her  head  till  it  is 
finished.  They  dovetail  well  together,  for  while 
they  last  there  is  always  the  varied  interest  of  his 
enthusiasms,  and  at  the  time  they  are  so  intense 
as  to  convince  everyone,  even  Bellwattle,  that 
there  is  really  something  in  them. 

His  energy  about  training  that  boot-boy  was 
the  same  as  all  his  other  enthusiasms.  For  the 
first  few  weeks  he  gave  great  attention  to  it. 

"I've  had  no  child  of  my  own, "  said  he;  "but  I 
think  I'd  know  how  to  bring  him  up  if  I  had  one. " 

And  there,  I  believe  him.  The  only  difficulty 
with  this  boy  was  that  he  was  no  child  of  Cruik- 
shank's,  and  the  mainspring  of  his  enthusiasm 
lies  in  his  affections.  He  never  started  with  any 

221 


&f)eepsfeins  anti  (Step  Gusset 

for  that  boy,  and  I  am  not  surprised.  Once  a  thing 
is  deep  in  Cruikshank's  heart,  my  own  opinion  is 
that  it  stays  there.  If  it  is  only  in  his  pocket — 
as  was  this  boy  with  his  weekly  wage — it  stands 
as  much  chance  of  remaining  there  as  does  a  three- 
penny bit. 

Nevertheless,  for  the  first  fortnight  or  so,  he 
gave  him  a  fair  share  of  his  attention.  Coming 
into  his  study  one  morning,  I  found  the  youth 
standing,  scarcely  at  ease,  while  Cruikshank  from 
his  armchair  was  gratuitously  offering  him  words 
of  wisdom. 

"Don't  think  what  your  work  is  worth,  till 
you've  done  it,"  said  he.  "Work  half  done  is 
worse  than  ill-finished.  If  you  find  some  pride 
in  cleaning  a  pair  of  boots  now,  you'll  put  your 
heart  in  the  right  place  for  doing  a  man's  work 
when  you're  older,  and  a  man  and  his  work  that's 
all  there  is  to  him  in  this  world.  He's  a  poor  thing 
without  it. " 

No  doubt  it  was  all  very  sound,  for  Cruikshank 
had  that  inherent  honesty  of  meaning  intensely 
every  word  he  said.  But  I  saw  a  grin  behind  that 
boy's  hand  as  he  left  the  room  upon  my  arrival, 
and  knew  that  every  word  of  it  had  been  wasted. 

"You'll  never  make  anything  of  that  youth," 
said  I;  "You're  only  wasting  your  breath. " 

222 


&reat  Hap* 

"I  don't  believe  anything' 's  wasted,"  he  re- 
plied, confirmed  in  his  idealism.  "If  it  doesn't 
feed  the  fish  in  the  river,  it'll  reach  the  fish  in  the 
sea." 

He  was  giving  little  food  to  the  fish  in  the  river 
when  three  weeks  had  well  gone  by,  and  the  hay- 
making had  begun.  For  after  the  first  few  days 
out  in  the  fields,  it  was  brought  to  his  notice  that 
the  boot-boy  was  seizing  this  change  of  work  as  an 
opportunity  for  the  most  flagrant  idleness.  He 
was  doing  nothing  at  all,  and  into  the  bargain 
contriving  to  obtrude  himself  in  everybody's  way. 

I  was  there  in  the  "Shilshard"  meadow  when 
Cruikshank  called  him  over  and  gave  him  home 
truths  that  did  not  chose  their  steps  to  find  the 
patches  of  philosophy. 

"You're  a  good-for-nothing,  dirty  little  hound !" 
he  shouted  at  him.  "What  you  want  is  a  good, 
stout  strap  across  your  back  till  you  show  the 
place  that  smarts  most,  and  then  have  it  laid  on 
again." 

And  that  was  better  talk  it  seemed  to  me  than 
all  the  soundest  philosophy  in  the  world.  There 
was  no  grin  behind  that  youngster's  hand  then. 
He  stood  there  shivering  in  his  shoes. 

"Does  your  aunt  ever  give  you  a  thrashing?" 
asked  Cruikshank. 

223 


$>f)eep*fetn*  anb  <Srep  Gusset 

"No,"  said  the  boy. 

"Never  once?" 

"No." 

"Have  you  ever  had  a  thrashing  in  your 
life?" 

"No,  sir." 

"That's  just  what  I  should  have  imagined. 
Well  the  sooner  you  learn  what  it  feels  like  as  an 
alternative  to  a  little  honest  work  the  better  for 
you,  my  lad.  We  learn  things  by  contrasts  in  this 
world,  and  when  you've  had  a  strap  across  your 
back  you'll  know  whether  it's  nicer  than  doing  your 
duty." 

I  fancy  the  boy  thought  he  was  going  to  get  his 
leathering  then  and  there,  for  his  cheeks  blanched, 
and  his  body  seemed  to  shrivel  inside  his  skin. 

But  there  is  in  Cruikshank — I  have  often  noticed 
it — a  passion  for  justice,  and  a  strict  observance 
of  the  rights  of  the  individual. 

Hot  though  his  temper  was  on  this  occasion, 
he  was  yet  conscious  he  had  no  right  of  chastise- 
ment over  this  young  limb  of  the  devil.  The  boy 
was  his  servant,  not  his  slave.  There  was  none 
of  the  Feudal  Lord  in  Cruikshank. 

"You  go  home  this  evening,"  said  he — "after 
work's  over  and  ask  your  aunt  whether  she'll 
accord  me  permission  to  give  you  a  good  thrashing. 

224 


&reat 

She  can  come  along  and  see  me  about  it  if  she 
likes,  and  I'll  tell  her  why. " 

We  were  building  the  second  rick  that  evening; 
carrying  the  hay  up  from  the  Crooked  Withy 
meadow  in  the  wagon,  nearly  a  ton  at  a  time,  to 
the  rickyard  behind  the  cowshed. 

Those  were  peaceful  journeys.  Restful  inter- 
ludes between  the  strenuous  labour  of  loading 
and  unloading,  when  the  one  who  had  built  the 
load  reclined  full-stretched  on  the  summit  in  the 
softest,  sweetest  of  beds  and  swaying  and  swinging 
as  the  wagon  rolled  along,  lay  looking  up  into  the 
blue  sky.  Those  moments  of  peace  were  worth 
all  the  fatigue  of  the  day. 

For  this  loading  business  is  not  such  a  simple 
job  as  it  looks.  Any  visitor  coming  in  to  lend  a 
hand,  if  he  is  a  novice  at  it,  will  make  a  hopeless 
mess  of  the  whole  affair;  load  half  as  much  as  a 
practised  hand,  and  probably  spill  the  lot  before 
the  rick  is  reached. 

You  must  build  your  corners  stout  and  strong. 
Each  load  is  a  piece  of  architecture  in  itself,  and 
without  the  surest  of  foundations  is  worse  than 
any  house  ill-built  upon  the  sand. 

The  pale-faced  youth  who,  before  the  hay- 
making was  over,  stepped  into  the  boot-boy's 
shoes  when  he  had  vacated  them,  unwisely  boasted 
15  225 


he  knew  something  about  the  job.  He  was  set  on 
to  perform  it  forthwith,  and  was  presented  with 
such  forkloads  as  made  us  stagger  beneath  the 
weight  of  them. 

But  he  had  framed  his  corners  weak,  and  there 
was  but  insecure  foundation  for  the  wealth  of 
building  material  we  brought  him.  Higher  and 
higher  his  structure  grew,  becoming  more  and 
more  of  a  pyramid,  and  less  and  less  of  a  castle 
wall.  Tread  it  down  as  he  might,  with  every  fork- 
load  there  was  less  room  on  top.  It  was  becoming 
a  dizzy  business,  and  with  a  timid  voice  he  called 
out  from  the  summit  that  he  thought  we  had  got 
enough. 

"Eh — lad — she'll  carry  more'n  that,"  shouted 
Puddimore,  with  a  moist  twinkle  in  his  eye.  And 
up  went  another  forkful.  It  was  true  enough 
the  wagon  would  carry  more  and  the  haymaker 
saves  himself  all  the  journeys  that  he  can.  But 
as  that  boy  had  built  her,  she  was  becoming  like 
the  leaning  tower  of  Pisa.  There  was  no  place 
for  another  wisp  but  on  the  very  pinnacle. 

By  the  time  his  white  face,  giddy  on  the  top, 
was  peering  down  at  us,  begging  for  mercy,  we 
turned  the  horses  home  and  walked  alongside, 
cheered  by  the  sight  of  him  trying  to  keep  his  seat. 

"Doan't  'ee  be  a  fool  lad!"  called  out  Puddi- 
226 


&reat  JDaps 

more,  with  chuckles  of  laughter — "Let  'ee  lie 
down  and  stretch  'ee  arms  and  legs  out  wide,  and 
say  'ee  prayers  to  Almighty  God,  for  'tis  a  parlous 
place  'ee  have  up  there. " 

The  wretched  boy  did  as  he  was  bid  and  there, 
on  the  pinnacle  of  the  hay,  he  lay  as  one  crucified 
to  save  the  load. 

It  was  of  no  avail.  We  came  to  a  part  of  the 
field  where  the  land  flowed  in  long  continuous 
waves.  Down  into  the  trough  of  them  lurched 
the  wagon  like  a  great  ship  overburdened  with 
her  bellied  sail,  fast  riding  to  her  doom. 

The  first  she  weathered;  but  it  was  easy  to  see 
she  could  not  hold  the  storm  for  long.  Motion- 
less and  rigid  that  crucified  figure  lay  on  top  of 
his  pyramid,  not  even  daring  to  raise  his  head  lest 
the  balance  of  the  load  should  be  upset. 

"Stick  to  it!"  we  shouted  to  him,  "Stick  to 
it — !"  and  one  and  all  of  us  were  holding  our 
sides  with  laughter,  not  caring  now  that  we  should 
have  the  extra  work  if  the  ship  of  our  labours  were 
wrecked  before  she  came  to  port. 

There  came  a  wave  at  last,  one  mightier  than 
the  rest.  Down  into  the  trough  she  went,  reeling 
in  her  agony — up  towards  the  summit  of  the  next ! 
Then  she  heeled  over.  Far  away  up  in  those 
heights  of  air  came  the  sound  of  a  frightened  voice, 

227 


anb  ®vtp 

crying  out  like  an  auctioneer  in  heaven,  "I'm 
going — I'm  going!  I  know  I'm  going!" 

Then  he  was  gone.  The  whole  edifice  crashed 
and  out  of  the  debris  of  new-mown  hay  there 
crawled  the  whitest  face  of  human  being  I  have 
ever  seen. 

But  they  were  grand  days!  The  heat,  the 
scent,  the  healthy  labour  of  it  all.  What  nights 
to  get  into  one's  bed  with  the  evening  light  scarce 
faded,  and  a  great  moon  coming  up  with  its  lamp 
into  the  deep  steel  blue  of  sky ! 

You  forget  the  hay-dust  in  your  hair,  and  if 
there  were  many  a  drop  of  sweat  that  ran  down 
your  face,  there  is  always  the  memory  of  that  cool 
bottle  of  cider  lying  in  the  shadow  of  the  hedge 
to  wash  it  away. 

I  had  asked  for  hazard  and  adventure  in  my 
change  of  life — well,  there  is  both,  even  in  a  hay- 
field.  You  are  pitting  your  strength  in  scarce 
more  than  single  combat  against  the  land,  and 
your  lists  are  glorified  in  your  memory  as  with 
all  the  glamour  and  the  perfume  of  the  East. 


228 


Chapter  XXIV 
ADVICE  TO  FATHERS 


"  There  has  always  appeared  to  me 
something  ludicrous  in  a  father  tak- 
ing his  child  in  cold  blood  to  his 
study  apart." 


229 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ADVICE  TO   FATHERS 

UT I  have  gone  ahead  in  my 
memories.  The  boot-boy 
incident  is  not  complete, 
and  there  is  no  doubt  it  had 
a  completeness,  peculiar 
though  it  may  have  been 
to  the  family  of  Bellwattle  and  Cruikshank. 

For  the  next  few  days,  after  that  interview  in 
the  hayfield,  the  boot-boy  kept  in  the  background, 
and  when  seen,  was  observed  to  be  working  like  a 
nigger  at  his  job. 

Happening  to  come  before  his  notice  about 
three  days  later,  Cruikshank  asked  him  if  he  had 
spoken  to  his  aunt. 

"That's  a  nuisance,"  said  the  boy;  "I  forgot 
about  it." 

"Well — make  it  a  convenience,"  replied  Cruik- 
shank— "and  go  and  tell  her  to-night. " 

He  spoke  like  a  Roman  father,  yet  nevertheless 
I  detected  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  turned  away. 

231 


anto 

I  wondered  then  what  would  be  the  end  of  it,  and 
wondered  still  more  with  increasing  interest  when 
the  next  morning  I  saw  the  aunt,  in  black  bonnet 
with  jet  quiverings,  being  escorted  across  the  hall 
to  Cruikshank's  study. 

I  carried  the  news  to  Bellwattle,  who  declared 
the  whole  matter  was  ridiculous. 

"It's  no  good  his  thrashing  the  boy, "  said  she; 
"I  don't  believe  in  corporal  chastity. " 

I  corrected  her  for  her  own  sake  lest  one  day 
she  might  voice  those  sentiments  before  the  vicar. 

"You  mean  chastisement, "  said  I. 

"Whatever  I  mean,"  she  replied— "It's  silly." 

About  ten  minutes  later,  Cruikshank  entered 
the  room  with  the  most  humorous  and  at  the  same 
time  woebegone  expression  on  his  face  I  have  ever 
seen. 

"What's  the  best  way  to  give  a  thrashing," 
said  he,  "because  upon  my  soul  I've  forgotten. " 

"Has  she  given  her  consent?"  asked  Bellwattle. 

"Given  her  consent?  She's  positively  de- 
lighted. I  might  have  been  asking  her  acceptance 
of  a  five-pound  note." 

The  situation  by  now  was  plain  enough  to 
anyone  who  knew  their  Cruikshank.  Wilfully 
closing  his  eyes  to  all  possible  humour  in  the  case 
he  had  preferred  his  temper  while  wrath  was  fresh 

232 


Sbbtcc  to 

in  him  at  finding  how  his  training  of  the  boot-boy 
had  produced  no  more  than  the  grossest  idleness. 

Nothing  will  incense  a  man  more  than  finding 
that  the  scattering  of  his  seeds  of  wisdom  have 
yielded  no  more  than  weeds.  For  this  reason 
must  clergymen  and  schoolmasters  be  ranged  in 
the  objectionable  classes  until  upon  acquaintance 
they  have  proved  themselves  superior  to  their 
environment. 

The  type  of  man  a  clergyman  cultivates  is  he 
who  will  obtain  a  way  to  heaven.  The  type  of 
boy  a  schoolmaster  upholds  is  he  who  will  win 
a  scholarship.  Both  types,  if  according  to  the 
text,  are  positively  obnoxious,  and  to  spend  one's 
life  cultivating  them  is  to  let  the  bloom  of  one's 
heart  run  to  seed  in  that  seld-centred  anxiety  that 
the  strain  may  not  be  lost. 

Nature  takes  care  of  these  things  for  herself  it 
seems  to  me,  and  too  much  scrupulousness  on  the 
part  of  man  for  his  soul  is  apt  to  lead  to  a  barren  tree. 

There  had,  no  doubt,  been  that  academic  spirit 
in  the  temper  of  Cruikshank  when  he  had  con- 
ceived the  appropriateness  of  giving  the  boot-boy 
a  thrashing.  Now  there  is  no  sense  of  humour  in 
propriety.  Without  doubt,  Cruikshank  had  pre- 
ferred his  temper.  But,  thank  heaven,  he  is  one 
who  cannot  be  appropriate  for  long.  In  the  inter- 

233 


£>t)eep*fefn*  anfc  <0rcp  Gusset 

val  that  had  elapsed,  and  while  his  temper  had  had 
time  to  cool,  the  ridiculousness  of  the  situation 
was  predominant. 

There  has  always  appeared  to  me  something 
ludicrous  in  a  father  taking  his  child  in  cold  blood 
to  his  study  apart,  standing  by  while  the  wretched 
little  fellow  divests  himself  of  those  garments 
which  give  him  what  little  dignity  he  has,  then 
compelling  him  to  submit  to  the  further  indignity 
of  bending  himself  over  a  chair,  exposing  that 
little  naked  part  of  his  anatomy  which  in  common 
decency  he  would  far  rather  was  not  seen,  while 
his  father,  a  tall,  strong  man,  and  many  years 
his  senior,  without  stay  or  hindrance,  exerts  him- 
self to  inflict  such  pain  as  in  the  circumstances  the 
under-housemaid  could  accomplish  with  but  the 
slightest  effort. 

Some  such  picture  as  that  must  have  come,  in 
his  cooler  moments,  to  Cruikshank's  mind.  The 
time  to  have  given  that  boot-boy  a  thrashing  was 
when  he  was  in  the  temper  for  it,  there  and  then 
witliout  the  judicial  hesitancy  of  calculation. 
That  refusal  to  give  a  boy  a  thrashing  in  the 
moment  of  one's  wrath,  lest  blind  and  chill  justice 
should  be  overstepped,  is  a  confession  on  the  part 
of  a  full-grown  man  that  he  has  little  or  no  control 
over  himself. 

234 


gbtu'ce  to  Jfatfjers 

I  speak  with  experience — and  not  as  the  Jews 
— and  if  fathers  who  would  earn  the  respect  of 
their  sons — a  quality  worth  having  from  little 
boys  and  not  easily  won — would  cuff  them  over 
the  head,  or  inflict  what  bodily  pain  they  thought 
fitted  the  crime  in  the  moment  of  their  wrath  at 
its  discovery,  they  might  do  better  in  that  difficult 
and  responsible  position  in  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  call  them. 

Such  as  it  is  worth,  this  advice  is  only  for  fathers. 
Clergymen  and  schoolmasters,  as  I  have  intimated, 
are  in  a  class  by  themselves. 

Cruikshank  was  up  against  this  problem  now. 
His  wrath  had  evaporated,  and  humour  was  doing 
its  best  to  save  him  from  loss  of  dignity. 

"I  can't  take  that  little  beast  into  my  study, " 
said  he,  "and  give  him  a  thrashing  now. " 

"You'd  laugh, "  said  Bellwattle. 

"I  should,"  said  he;  "and  how  the  devil  can 
you  give  a  boy  a  thrashing  when  you're  laughing 
all  the  time.  I  can't  play  golf  when  I'm  laughing. 
I  take  my  eye  off  the  ball.  I  might  miss  him  al- 
together once  out  of  thrice.  And  what  a  fool 
he'd  think  me  then. " 

"It  comes  to  this,"  I  suggested,  "that  you're 
afraid  of  losing  your  dignity  in  the  eyes  of  that 
rotten  little  boot-boy. " 

235 


Kussct 

"For  the  matter  of  that,"  he  replied,  "the 
world's  full  of  rotten  little  boot-boys,  and  every 
man  jack  of  us  goes  about  in  fear  and  trembling, 
lest  our  dignity  be  lost  in  their  presence.  All  right, 
A.  H.,  you're  not  in  my  shoes.  You  come  along 
to  the  study  and  see  me  shamed  before  a  rotten 
little  boot-boy. " 

I  went  with  him,  chuckling,  and  we  waited  while 
the  youth  was  sent  for.  .He  came,  with  a  scared 
face,  peering  round  the  corner  of  the  door. 
Whether  he  had  had  speech  with  his  aunt  or  not, 
he  knew  well  what  was  in  the  air. 

"Shut  the  door,"  said  Cruikshank  sternly, 
and  then  had  to  turn  his  face  away  to  look  out 
of  the  window. 

The  boot-boy  shut  the  door. 

With  an  effort  Cruikshank  pulled  himself 
together. 

"Your  aunt  has  granted  her  permission,"  he 
began,  "for  me  to  give  you  a  good  sound 
thrashing." 

By  a  slight  movement  from  one  foot  to  another, 
it  was  plain  to  see  how  that  part  of  his  anatomy, 
sensitive  to  even  a  hint  of  these  undertakings, 
twitched  at  the  sound  of  the  words. 

"But  it's  my  opinion  that  a  thrashing  in  cold 
blood  is  not  going  to  do  you  much  good.  You're 

236 


gfttrite  lo  jf atfjer* 

the  sort  of  little  fool  who  would  consider  himself 
injured  by  the  mere  taste  of  justice.  You've  for- 
gotten by  now  how  lazy  you  were  when  I  threat- 
ened you  with  it,  and  you'll  think  the  punishment 
ill-deserved.  What  you  want  is  a  beating  on  the 
spot  and  that,  the  very  next  time  you  shirk  your 
work,  you'll  get,  and  I  can  tell  you  it'll  sting  a 
bit  more  on  account  of  my  temper.  Go  on — get 
out!  Get  to  your  work  and  the  next  time  you'll 
know  what  to  expect. " 

I  don't  know  whether  the  little  beast  heard 
Cruikshank's  laughter  as  the  door  closed.  I  have 
suspicion  that  he  did,  and  believed  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  a  thrashing  for  him  in  that  house. 
As  far  as  that  goes,  he  was  quite  right.  He  became 
incorrigible  and  Cruikshank  sacked  him.  The 
pale-faced  youth  who  had  a  taste  for  painting 
little  pictures  and  the  breaking  of  good  old  English 
china  came  in  his  stead. 


237 


Chapter  XXV 

A  SOLOMON  COME  TO 
JUDGMENT 


"  I  don't  think  Peggy  had 

different  treatment  from  the 

rest" 


239 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A   SOLOMON    COME  TO  JUDGMENT 

ORPORAL  punishment,  however, 
was  by  no  means  outside  Cruik- 
shank's   administration.     In   the 
reign  of  the  pale-faced  youth,  in- 
deed in  its  very  beginning,  some- 
one brought  word  one  day  to  the 
Court  that  the  old  blacksmith's  pet  white  cat  had 
been  killed  by  our  dogs. 

Now  cats,  as  is  well  known,  were  close  to  Bell- 
wattle's  heart.  She  had  possessed  five  in  Ireland. 
At  Lemington,  there  was  but  one,  christened  Ugly 
— because  of  its  black  countenance — and  when  in 
favour — which  it  always  was,  and  mostly  after 
acts  of  theft — called  Ugetty-pug. 

Bellwattle  had  no  sympathy  for  the  dogs  over 
this  affair,  and  Cruikshank  had  forthwith  gone 
down  to  the  forge  to  investigate. 

The  blacksmith  was  an  elderly  man  of  patriar- 
chal appearance;  practically  deaf  and  as  nearly 
blind.     He  met  Cruikshank  with  the  limp  body 
"  241 


and 

of  the  white  cat  in  his  arms,  whimpering  that  it 
was  his  sole  companion. 

"Every  evening  her  came  and  sat  on  my  knee 
after  her  saucer  o'  milk,  surr — every  evening  these 
last  ten  years.  I  doan't  know  what'll  I  do  wi'out 
her,  my  wife  bein*  dead  now  and  buried  there  in 
the  churchyard,  and  my  darter  lookin'  after  me, 
both  her  hands  she  hev  full  o'  work,  and  I'm  too 
old  to  lift  a  hammer  now — too  old,  there's  no 
mistake  about  that. " 

There  was  none  indeed.  His  forge  was  idle, 
a  litter  of  rusty  iron  with  cold  black  ashes  on  the 
furnace.  Every  Friday  a  young  blacksmith  from 
a  neighbouring  village  came  over  to  do  whatever 
work  was  needed  by  the  farmers  in  the  village. 
You  could  not  look  at  this  old  fellow  with  the 
body  of  that  white  cat  in  his  arms  and  not  pity 
him. 

There  is  no  assessment  of  Charity  in  these 
affairs.  The  quality  of  your  heart  is  the  only 
competent  judge  to  make  out  the  bill.  The  value 
of  the  cat  was  immaterial.  I  have  no  opinion  of 
the  man  who  could  judge  it  by  that.  There  was 
no  valuing  the  matter  by  any  known  computation. 
The  loss  was  that  sustained  by  the  old  black- 
smith's sentiments,  a  commodity  upon  which  our 
modern  materialists  place  less  value  than  a  brass 

242 


&  Solomon  Come  to 

farthing.  It  was  no  good  calculating  how  much 
of  his  grief  was  assumed,  or  how  much  of  it 
genuine.  In  an  affair  of  this  nature,  the  amount 
of  charity  is  determined  by  what  your  imagination 
assures  you  you  would  suffer  yourself,  and  if  the 
gratitude  of  the  recipient  of  your  bounty  is  any 
criterion  of  the  sum,  I  suppose  Cruikshank  be- 
lieved he  must  have  suffered  considerably. 

Having  then  paid  handsomely  for  this  charity 
thus  forced  upon  him,  I  can  quite  understand 
his  next  thought  being  to  serve  out  justice  to  the 
dogs. 

But  who  was  the  culprit?  By  all  accounts  the 
whole  lot  of  them  had  been  caught  in  the  act  of 
chasing  and,  in  the  mdlee,  it  was  impossible  to 
see  who  had  delivered  the  coup  de  grace. 

"I'll  beat  every  damned  one  of  them,"  said 
Cruikshank  in  his  wrath — "Cowardly  little 
beasts!" 

And  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  no  less  than  the 
Solomon-like  measure  of  his  judgment,  Bellwattle's 
face  fell.  She  could  not,  however,  withdraw  from 
her  attitude  in  the  matter.  One  of  them  had  killed 
the  cat,  and  she  was  compelled  to  suppose  it  would 
be  unfair  to  beat  one  for  the  lot  without  being 
certain  of  its  guilt. 

"They  won't  know  what  you're  beating  them 
243 


anil  (Step  Bussct 

for,"  she  said,  in  the  last  faint  hope  that  retri- 
bution might  be  averted. 

"They'll  know,"  said  Cruikshank,  "when  they 
see  the  body  of  the  white  cat. " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"I've  brought  it  back  from  the  blacksmith's 
and  I'm  going  to  show  it  to  each  one  of  them 
before  I  beat  it.  You  can  bury  it  in  the  garden 
afterwards  if  you  like. " 

Bellwattle  turned  sadly  away  and  departed 
to  her  bedroom,  the  farthest  spot  from  the  scullery, 
which  was  chosen  as  the  place  of  chastisement. 

Cruikshank  went  to  fetch  a  stick.  He  had  a 
laborious  business  in  front  of  him.  There  were 
five  dogs.  Peggy,  a  collie — Dicky — Roy,  one  of 
Peggy's  puppies,  and  Puppy,  yet  another,  so  im- 
poverishly  christened  because,  presenting  them 
with  a  litter  of  twelve,  their  ingenuity  for  names 
had  become  exhausted. 

Holding  the  body  of  the  white  cat  in  his  hands, 
the  pale-faced  youth  was  instructed  to  stand  in 
the  scullery  like  an  acolyte  bearing  the  insignia 
of  all  unchivalrous  action.  Then  the  dogs  were 
brought  in,  one  by  one,  in  the  reverse  order  to 
that  in  which  I  have  named  them. 

In  their  ignorance  of  the  fate  that  awaited 
them,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  catching  Puppy. 

244 


8  Solomon  Come  to 

A  hulking  great  collie  she  was  then,  just  a  year  old. 
There  was  a  general  suspicion  that  she  was  more 
or  less  the  village  idiot  of  the  family.  Even  at 
that  age,  she  gambolled  and  frolicked  foolishly, 
and  took  her  beating  like  the  clown  in  a  circus. 
Her  antics  in  response  to  Cruikshank's  blows — 
and  they  were  no  mean  ones — might  have  been 
intended  to  make  us  laugh.  She  had  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  laughing  herself.  As  little  did  she  ap- 
preciate the  meaning  of  the  body  of  the  white  cat. 

"Oh — take  her  away!"  said  Cruikshank  at 
last,  feeling  he  was  in  danger  of  regaining  his 
temper  with  her  humours.  "Roy '11  have  a  better 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. " 

Roy  was  a  fine  sable  collie,  looking  like  a  lion, 
the  finest  dog  of  his  kind  it  would  be  possible  to 
find,  and  wearing  that  expression  of  uncertain 
temper  one  hears  credited  to  collies,  but  so  seldom 
finds. 

Swiftly  learning  what  he  was  in  for,  he  ruffled 
up  his  dignity  in  bristles  on  his  back.  I  did  not 
envy  Cruikshank  his  job  just  then,  but  he  got  him 
firmly  by  the  collar  and  gave  him  the  soundest 
thrashing  because  there  was  just  the  chance  of 
being  bitten  to  keep  his  temper  on  edge.  Roy 
growled  and  showed  his  teeth,  but  he  never 
whined,  and  he  walked  away  with  as  much  dignity 

245 


as  he  had  come  in,  assuring  us  he  did  not  care  a 
damn,  and  that  nothing  Cruikshank  could  do 
would  hurt  him. 

Then  there  was  Dandy,  and  by  this  time  with 
all  the  accounts  that  had  gone  about  the  house, 
he  was  sore  afraid  and  very  difficult  to  find. 

Cruikshank  offered  me  the  stick,  feeling,  I  sup- 
pose, I  had  some  proprietary  right  but  I  felt  the 
affair  had  better  go  on  as  it  had  begun,  and  went 
out  to  find  Dicky  for  the  measurement  of  justice. 

When  I  came  back,  I  was  informed  Dandy 
had  taken  his  thrashing  with  a  stoical  calm.  True 
he  lay  down  to  it,  and  offered  that  part  of  himself 
it  was  most  difficult  to  strike.  But  he  had  never 
uttered  one  cry  from  beginning  to  end.  I  took 
occasion  when  Cruikshank  was  not  looking  to  pat 
him  gently  as  he  sadly  left  the  room. 

He  glanced  up  at  me  from  under  his  eyes  and 
he  said — 

"I  never  knew  it  mattered  about  cats — foul- 
mouthed  little  beasts!  I  know  why  you  went 
out  of  the  room — don't  think  I  didn't  appreciate 
that." 

I  patted  him  again  whereupon  I  saw  him  running 
back  to  the  others  with  a  slight  wagging  of  his  tail. 
I  expect  he  told  them  it  did  not  hurt  at  all. 

It  was  Dicky  who  yelled  and  Bellwattle,  though 
246 


3  Solomon  Come  to 

she  was  as  far  away  as  she  could  get,  no  doubt 
having  her  ears  well  ready  for  the  faintest  sound 
to  reach  them,  sent  down  a  swift  message  that 
Peggy  on  no  account  was  to  be  hurt. 

"She's  an  old  lady — "  were  the  words  she  asked 
to  be  particularly  repeated  in  her  message. 

But  I  don't  think  Peggy  had  any  different 
treatment  than  the  rest.  The  only  difference  lay 
in  the  way  she  took  it.  She  was  the  oldest  dog 
of  the  family,  and  with  wonderful  energy  she  had 
presented  them  with  twenty-two  puppies  in  her 
day.  Called  alternately  the  old  lady,  or  Princess 
— for  no  dog  gets  it  right  name  in  that  household — 
she  knew  she  was  the  favoured  one,  and  that 
Cfuikshank  adored  her. 

I  must  confess  I  admired  the  way  he  showed 
no  favouritism.  Peggy  received  her  beating  in 
earnest.  But  the  way  in  which  she  persistently 
refused  to  believe  it  was  corporal  punishment 
must  have  been  disconcerting  to  Cruikshank. 
With  arch  and  almost  skittish  movements,  she 
sidled  under  the  blows  that  fell  on  her,  and  when 
it  was  all  over,  putting  up  her  paw  to  shake  hands 
with  Cruikshank  and  congratulate  him  for  a 
creditable  piece  of  play-acting  where  she  was 
concerned,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  the 
soft  part  of  her  nose. 

247 


She  ran  off  with  fat  capers,  bounding  from  one 
side  to  the  other,  convinced  that  it  had  all  been  a 
put-up  job.  The  others  might  have  been  beaten, 
but  she  was  an  old  lady,  and  upstairs,  somewhere 
in  the  house  was  a  gentle  friend  of  hers  who  would 
see  that  no  harm  would  ever  come  to  her. 

"It's  all  right,  you  dogs,"  said  she;  "he  never 
meant  anything.  Let's  go  out  hunting  this 
evening." 

I  have  it  on  record  that  they  did.  I  also  have 
it  on  record  how  Bellwattle  urged  in  their  defence 
that  after  a  beating  like  that  they  deserved  a 
little  amusement. 


V^BfeJWW 


248 


Chapter  XXVI 
BONNY  CONVEYS  A  PROTEST 


"It  comes  back  to  me 
often  with  inward  quivers 
of  laughter,  the  remem- 
brance of  that  day  when 
they  tried  to  put  the  old 
cart-horse,  Bonny,  in  the 
plough." 


249 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BONNY  CONVEYS  A  PROTEST 

CANNOT  number  my  memories  of 
those  days  at  Lemington  Court.  In- 
cidents return  to  the  summons  of  odd 
moments  of  suggestion.  What  the 
psychologist  would  call  a— subliminal 
uprush.  Often  Clarissa  finds  me, 
without  apparent  rhyme  or  reason,  breaking  out 
into  sudden  and  unexpected  chuckles  of  laughter. 
At  times  it  may  be,  I  seem  not  to  have  heard  what 
she  says.  I  sit  looking  out  across  the  tops  of  the 
plane  trees  we  can  see  from  our  window  and  make 
no  reply. 

With  a  jerk  then  I  precipitate  myself  into  the 
moment  of  the  present  as  the  sound  of  her  voice 
reaches  me.  It  has  reached  me  over  the  tops  of 
other  than  the  planes;  it  has  reached  me  over  the 
elms  and  apple  trees,  over  the  wide  hay  meadows 
and  the  pollard  withies  where  I  see  that  spring 
with  her  apple  cheeks  and  that  fine  young  buxom 
summer  laughing  one  behind  the  other  down  the 
Gloucestershire  lanes. 

251 


anb 

It  comes  back  to  me  often  with  inward  quivers 
of  laughter,  the  remembrance  of  that  day  when 
they  tried  to  put  the  old  cart-horse — Bonny — in 
the  plough. 

An  acre  or  so  of  the  Home  Meadow  was  needed 
by  Cruikshank  to  be  turned  up  for  arable.  Ob- 
viously Short  and  Prince  were  the  horses  for  the 
work,  but  they  were  otherwise  engaged,  and  see- 
ing that  one  may  sometimes  find  as  many  as  five 
horses  to  the  plough  on  that  heavy  land  in  the 
valley  of  the  Avon,  it  appeared  hopeless  to  expect 
that  Bonny  and  the  horse  called  Desmond,  on 
which  Cruikshank  rode  round  the  fields  in  the 
early  morning,  could  do  the  work. 

There  was,  however,  scarcely  more  than  an 
acre  to  be  turned,  and  much  against  Bellwattle's 
wishes  he  made  up  his  mind  to  put  these  two  on 
to  the  job. 

"You  promised  you  wouldn't  work  her  hard," 
said  she.  "It'll  probably  strain  her  heart.  She 
may  die  while  you're  at  it. " 

Persuasion,  as  with  most  men,  only  added  to 
Cruikshank's  determination.  He  knew  what  his 
own  intentions  were.  No  man  certainly  could 
be  kinder  to  animals,  but  the  difference  between 
him  and  Bellwattle  is  that  he  likes  to  see  them 
work.  He  knew  he  would  be  the  first  to  hold  up 

252 


Conbcps  a  protest 

his  hand  against  the  proceedings  were  Bonny 
to  show  signs  of  fatigue,  therefore  all  Bellwattle's 
persuasions  availed  only  to  set  his  mind  the  more 
upon  doing  it. 

Bellwattle  would  like  to  collect  all  the  old  horses 
in  England,  keeping  them  in  a  field  during  the 
summer  and  in  immaculate  stables  through  the 
winter.  Somewhere  in  her  conception  of  the 
scheme  of  life,  there  is  a  heaven  for  all  four-legged 
beasts  and  feathered  creatures  and,  had  she  the 
money,  nothing  would  give  her  greater  satisfac- 
tion than  to  arrange  it  entirely  herself.  She  has, 
I  believe,  many  a  bone  to  pick  with  Nature,  and 
if  all  were  reported  of  those  things  she  says  about 
God,  it  would  be  seen  how  He  comes  in  for  a  fair 
share  of  her  most  biting  criticism. 

She  would  not  go  near  the  Home  Meadow  that 
morning  when  Bonny  was  being  led  out  to  the 
plough,  and  when  half  an  hour  later  word  was 
hastily  brought  her  that  the  old  horse  had  fallen 
down  in  her  harness,  and  could  not  be  induced  to 
rise,  she  came  running  out  with  bitter  accusation 
in  her  eyes  and  lips  that  were  trembling  with  her 
emotion. 

She  did  not  say — "I  knew  this  would  happen, " 
but  she  let  one  glance  fall  upon  Cruikshank,  no 
less  distressed  than  she  was,  and  then  set  to  work 

253 


anb 

with  all  her  blandishments  to  persuade  Bonny 
to  her  feet. 

It  was  to  no  purpose.  Bonny  would  not  move. 
She  lay  there  with  her  neck  stretched  out  and  her 
head  quite  still,  resting  on  the  crest  of  the  second 
furrow  they  had  just  completed.  Only  her  eyes 
turning  hither  and  thither  with  a  clear  light  in 
them,  gave  hope  that  her  last  moment  was  not 
immediately  upon  her. 

Even  I,  knowing  little  or  nothing  about  horses, 
would  have  sworn  she  was  not  in  the  last  extreme, 
but  there  it  was,  a  big  beast  like  that  lying 
stretched  upon  the  ground,  apparently  unable  to 
move,  is  a  distressing  sight  to  witness.  My  know- 
ledge of  animals  amounts  to  this,  that  if  they  will 
not  take  their  food  or  are  quite  incapable  of  stand- 
ing on  their  legs,  it  is  fairly  safe  to  assume  there  is 
something  the  matter  with  them.  What  it  may 
be  is  an  affair  for  the  experts.  I  would  sooner 
diagnose  the  symptoms  of  a  broken-down  sewing 
machine  or  give  my  opinion  on  a  question  of 
plumbing. 

Puddimore  declared  she  had  the  gripes,  but 
associating  the  gripe  (so-called  by  people  in  one's 
childhood,  the  type  of  people  who  had  no  com- 
punction for  the  use  of  such  words  as  itch,  and 
could  say  stomach  without  looking  uncomfort- 

254 


JSonnp  Conbepg  a 

able  about  it),  associating  that  complaint  with 
the  most  violent  of  agonies,  we  none  of  us  took 
the  slightest  notice  of  him.  His  treatment  of 
Daisy  had  robbed  him  of  all  our  confidence.  What- 
ever was  the  matter  with  Bonny,  we  wanted  no 
more  hanging  of  old  garments  on  hawthorn  hedges. 
It  seemed  far  too  serious  a  business  for  that  sort 
of  homeopathy. 

"Who's  got  a  bicycle  to  go  in  for  the  vet.?" 
asked  Bellwattle,  and  Cruikshank  raised  not  the 
faintest  word  of  objection. 

When  a  man  has  been  proved  tragically  to  be 
in  the  wrong,  his  remorse  is  great  enough  to 
warrant  your  sympathy.  I  believe  he  would  have 
given  the  price  of  Bonny  twice  over  to  have  had 
the  poor  beast  on  her  feet  once  more.  It  was 
proved  to  him  with  a  bitter  conclusiveness  that 
he  had  been  cruel  to  a  willing  animal  and  was 
ready  to  suffer  whatever  punishment  circumstance 
might  inflict  upon  him  for  his  obstinacy. 

I  do  not  wish  for  a  moment  here  to  suggest 
that  it  was  the  sound  of  the  vet.'s  name  or  to 
convey  there  was  anything  out  of  the  ordinary 
in  Bonny 's  intelligence,  but  I  caught  a  look  in 
her  eye  as  she  lay  there,  listening,  there  can  be 
no  doubt  of  that,  to  everything  which  was  going 
on  about  her. 

255 


£>f)eep*iun0  anfc  <£>rcp  Russet 

"May  I  make  a  suggestion?"  said  I. 

They  all  looked  at  me  eagerly,  as  one  does 
towards  any  unexpected  voice  offering  help  in  an 
awkward  situation. 

"What  do  you  know  about  horses,  A.  H.  ?" 
asked  Cruikshank,  sceptical  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  heart. 

"I  don't  know  anything,"  I  replied;  "I  say  it 
is  only  a  suggestion. " 

"Why  can't  you  let  A.  H.  say  what  he  wants 
to?"  demanded  Bell  wattle  and,  with  childlike 
obedience,  he  said  no  more.  "What  is  it?"  she 
inquired. 

"Take  all  the  harness  off  her — every  bit  of  it — 
every  stitch." 

"What's  the  good  of  that?"  asked  Cruikshank; 
"It's  not  hurting.  We've  loosened  everything. " 

I  repeated  my  offer  was  only  a  suggestion. 

"There's  no  need  to  do  it  if  you  don't  want  to, " 
I  added.  "But  just  see  what  will  happen — take 
it  off  and  take  it  right  away,  back  to  the  harness- 
room. " 

Bellwattle,  who  at  times  will  take  anybody's 
advice  in  the.  world  rather  than  Cruikshank's, 
began  at  once  to  adopt  my  proposal,  and  without 
question.  All  harness  to  her  was  the  insignia  of 
slavery,  unless  it  looked  particularly  smart,  or 

256 


Contocps  a  protest 

had  decorations  of  coloured  wool  and  bells  such 
as  they  wear  on  May  Day. 

In  less  than  five  minutes  she  had  Bonny  stripped 
of  every  stitch,  and  Puddimore  walked  away  with 
the  harness,  looking,  with  all  the  falling  straps 
about  his  shoulders,  like  a  centipede. 

We  proceeded  once  more  to  try  and  induce 
Bonny  even  to  a  sitting  posture,  but  with  no 
success.  There  she  lay,  stretched  out  pathetically 
by  the  plough  that  had  brought  her  to  this  distress. 
Nothing  that  Bellwattle  whispered  in  her  ear,  no 
amount  of  endearment  could  persuade  her  to 
move. 

The  only  thing  that  was  left  to  Cruikshank 
with  his  pricking  conscience,  was  wrath  at  the 
ineffectiveness  of  my  suggestion. 

"The  harness  had  nothing  to  do  with  it, "  said 
he;  "I  told  you  we'd  loosened  every  bit  of  it. " 

"May  I  make  one  more  suggestion  then," 
said  I ;  "if  that's  no  good  I  won't  say  another  word, 
and  you'd  better  send  for  the  vet.  at  once. " 

With  tears  perilously  near  her  eyes,  Bellwattle 
inquired  what  it  was. 

"Fix  up  Desmond  to  the  plough, "  said  I,  "and 
take  it  right  away. " 

Cruikshank  looked  at  me  in  pity,  but  was  too 
beaten  a  man  to  refuse.  The  plough  rattled  off 
17  257 


anb  <£rep 

to  the  farmyard,  and  as  it  turned  out  of  sight, 
Bonny  raised  her  head.  Before  those  rattling 
sounds  had  come  to  rest,  she  had  risen  to  her  feet 
without  the  assistance  of  anyone  and,  looking 
about  her  with  considerable  satisfaction  and  assur- 
ance in  her  eye,  was  accepting  Bellwattle's  caresses 
and  submitting  to  anything  she  might  chose  to 
do  to  that  soft  pouch  of  flesh  beneath  her  chin. 

When  Cruikshank  returned,  sceptical  to  the 
last,  he  stood  amazed. 

"How  did  you  get  her  up?"  he  asked. 

"She  rose  herself,"  said  I,  "to  announce  a 
protest.  She  draws  the  line  at  a  plough. " 

Bellwattle  was  laughing  now  in  her  sheer  delight 
at  the  issue,  when  suddenly  she  stopped,  looking 
swiftly  at  Cruikshank.  Both  of  us  caught  that 
look.  In  an  instant  it  had  driven  all  thoughts  of 
Bonny  out  of  our  heads. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  and  came 
quickly  to  her,  holding  her  arm. 

"A  pain — a  sudden  pain,"  said  she — "in  my 
side. "  And  her  face  had  as  swiftly  blanched  to  an 
unusual  pallor  that  brought  a  chill  to  my  blood. 
There  was  no  need  to  tell  us  she  was  in  pain.  It 
cried  at  you  from  her  eyes. 

"Come  in  and  lie  down,"  said  Cruikshank, 
gently.  ' '  Would  you  like  me  to  carry  you  ? ' ' 

258 


Conbep*  a  protest 

She  found  a  smile  somewhere  in  the  fund  of 
her  sense  of  humour,  and  gave  it  him,  but  it  was 
a  sorry  effort,  and  must  have  cost  her  no  little. 

For  a  moment  I  turned  away,  then  followed 
them  at  a  distance  into  the  house.  He  took  her 
up  to  her  room,  while  with  many  misgivings  in  my 
heart,  I  waited  downstairs  till  he  returned. 

There  was  a  thin  look  about  his  lips  and  his 
eyes  were  as  hard  and  cold  as  granite. 

"Come  and  help  me  get  out  the  car,"  said  he 
in  a  tone  of  voice  that  had  no  human  note  of 
emotion. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  asked. 

"Cheltenham,"  said  he— "the  doctor." 


259 


Chapter  XXVI I 

THE  HOOP  WITH  A 
GAP  IN  IT 


"  /  wandered  out  into 
the  fields." 


261 


CHAPTER  XXV  I 

THE  HOOP  WITH   A    GAP  IN   IT 

OUBTLESS  the  sunshine  has  a 
quality  of  its  own,  the  green 
fields,  the  blue  skies  some  in- 
trinsic beauty  the  hand  of  man 
cannot  disturb;  yet  I  would 
venture  it  is  alone  in  the  mind 
of  man  to  find  it. 

Sunshine,  green  fields,  blue  skies,  all  can  be  dis- 
coloured, and  their  flaunting  beauty  weigh  upon 
his  spirits  the  more  if  it  be  his  heart  is  in  no  mood 
to  appreciate  them. 

Waiting  for  the  doctor  to  complete  his  visit 
to  Bellwattle  and  depart,  I  wandered  out  into 
the  fields  and  down  to  the  Crooked  Withy  mea- 
dow, where  not  many  days  before  we  had  cut  the 
hay,  a  good  ton  or  more  to  the  acre. 

With  a  couple  of  day's  rain,  the  grass  was 
freshing  to  a  luxuriant  green.  Here  and  there 
on  the  hedges  and  the  apple  trees  through  the 
big  orchard  were  still  clinging  wisps  of  hay  to 

263 


anto  ©rep 

mark  the  wake  of  the  wagon  where  it  had  carried 
the  loads  up  to  the  rickyard,  but  nothing  in  the 
verdant  colour  of  that  field  would  ever  have 
suggested  that  a  harvest  had  just  been  gathered 
there.  Already  there  was  keep  enough  for  a  good 
herd  of  cattle,  and  left  ungrazed,  the  aftermath 
would  soon  be  ready  for  the  taking. 

Soft  white  clouds  were  sailing  overhead  in  their 
sea  of  blue.  A  faint  breeze  rustled  through  the 
leaves  of  the  withies,  and  sang  its  pattering  song 
in  the  high  branches  of  a  Lombardy  poplar.  The 
river  Swillgate  wound  its  twisted  way  between  the 
crooked  banks  of  the  field,  here  making  a  mirror 
for  the  sky  in  an  open  place  with  a  splash  of  blue, 
there,  smudged  with  its  dark  olive  browns  and 
greens  where  the  trees  hung  thickly  overhead. 

In  the  meadow  on  the  other  bank,  cows  were 
grazing,  cows  white  and  orange-brown,  and  some 
Sussex  red,  appearing  and  disappearing  beyond 
the  trunks  of  the  withy  trees.  And  in  open  places 
where  the  country  stretched  to  a  far  distance, 
there  were  the  blue  purple  hills,  deep-dyed  by 
that  light  of  day,  standing  between  the  town  of 
Worcester  and  the  land  of  Wales. 

It  was  the  most  perfect  day  of  all  since  I  had 
been  there,  yet  the  thought  of  Bellwattle  up  at 
the  house,  and  the  hidden  fear  in  my  heart  I  dare 

264 


tottf)  a  <&ap  in  3t 

not  give  words  to,  discoloured  everything  for  my 
vision. 

Perhaps  I  am  wrong.  Perhaps  it  discoloured 
nothing,  for  all  those  lights  and  shades  of  beauty 
certainly  I  saw.  It  was  more  as  if  I  were  looking 
at  a  picture  painted  upon  dead  canvas;  as  though 
I  felt  driven  in  criticism  to  say  aloud — "Yes — all 
very  beautiful — wonderful  colours — an  arresting 
conception — but  the  artist  who  painted  it  had  no 
idea  of  being  true  to  Nature.  Nature's  not  so 
beautiful  as  that. " 

These  more  closely  were  the  impressions  in  my 
mind  as  I  stood  there  in  the  Crooked  Withy 
meadow.  The  beauty  of  it  all  was  not  real  to  me, 
and  all  because  of  the  overburdening  sense  of 
something  that  was  far  more  unhappy  than  this 
was  happy  in  my  mind. 

So  it  seems  to  me  there  are  some  people  who 
miss  the  beauty  in  life  altogether,  because  of  the 
constant  overburdening  of  their  minds  with  the 
sense  of  the  unreality  of  beautiful  things.  I  thank 
Heaven  for  it  that  with  me,  these  moods  are  only 
transitory.  Once  the  immediate  pressure  of  sad- 
ness is  relieved,  whatever  it  may  be,  it  falls  into 
the  appointed  place  of  sorrows  in  my  memory  and 
they — like  the  sweetest  songs — have  power  of 
creating  beauty  as  great  as  any  that  I  know. 

265 


&f)eepsfeins  anb 

Whether  this  be  the  true  analysis  of  my  mind 
or  not,  I  only  know  I  could  not  appreciate  the 
beauty  of  that  afternoon,  and  when  I  had  been 
sitting  on  the  bank  by  the  stream  for  a  little  while, 
I  rose,  still  ill  at  ease  and  went  back  to  the  house. 
Those  peacefully  grazing  cattle,  that  blue  sky, 
the  songs  of  the  trees,  the  green  meadows  and  the 
purple  hills,  they  became  almost  hurtful  to  me  as 
my  eyes  rested  on  them. 

I  went  back  and  sat  in  a  room  where  there  was 
no  sunshine  falling,  and  waited  till  Cruikshank 
and  the  doctor  came  down  stairs. 

They  were  not  long  after  my  return.  I  heard 
their  footsteps  on  the  uncarpeted  oak  stairs.  I 
heard  them  pause  in  the  hall  as  they  stopped  and 
talked.  The  very  sound  of  their  voices  was  omi- 
nous. It  was  the  guttural  rumble  of  men  who 
speak  below  their  breath  because  of  the  seriousness 
rather  than  the  secrecy  of  what  they  say. 

They  were  long,  those  moments,  waiting  till 
Cruikshank  came  to  tell  me  the  nature  of  the 
doctor's  report.  When  at  length  I  heard  him 
approaching,  and  at  last  he  opened  the  door,  that 
grey  look  was  still  in  his  eyes,  and  he  was  slow  to 
speech  as  one  who  fears  to  give  his  thoughts  the 
definite  outline  of  words. 

I  said  nothing  as  he  took  a  chair  and  sat  for  a 
266 


tEf)e  &oop  toitt)  a  <&ap  in  lit 

while  staring  in  front  of  him.     After  a  while  he 
looked  up. 

"What  is  it,  A.  H.,"  said  he;  "that  makes  us 
feel  the  abrupt  termination  of  our  lives  at  death, 
when  we  haven't  a  child  to  carry  on  after  we're 
gone?  It's  not  the  need  of  someone  to  leave  our 
property  to.  I  take  it  a  rag-and-bone  man  feels 
the  same,  even  if  it  isn't  near  enough  to  his  con- 
sciousness for  words.  There  must  be  more  than 
just  merely  the  influence  of  heredity  in  one's 
children.  I  don't  really  care  a  damn  whether 
the  qualities  I  possess — whatever  they  are — 
should  be  perpetuated.  I  don't  think  it's  myself 
so  much  I  want  to  see — though  it's  the  common 
instinct  for  a  man  to  want  a  boy-child — as  it  is 
to  satisfy  that  feeling  of  justification.  It  seems 
to  me  that  these  flesh  and  bones  of  mine  will  have 
been  such  a  ludicrous  waste  of  energy,  if  I  don't 
leave  flesh  and  bones  behind  me.  I've  not  got 
ridiculous  ideas  about  the  family  of  Townshend 
dying  out.  But  I've  got  violent  ideas  about  my- 
self dying  out  and  not  me,  mind  you,  for  what 
I  can  do,  or  what  I  am,  but  me  as  some  expression 
of  energy  that  has  a  just  cause  rather  than  having 
merely  been  an  impediment.  Apart  from  all 
sentimental  ideas  about  children — and  Lord  knows 
I  could  love  one  if  I  had  one — I  need  a  child  to 

267 


anb 

complete  myself.    I'm  a  hoop  with  a  gap  in  it.    I 
don't  go  round.    I  bind  nothing." 

I  felt  he  was  saying  all  this  to  himself,  rather 
than  to  me,  the  first  pardonably  egotistical  thoughts 
that  overwhelm  a  man  when  he  is  face  to  face  with 
the  direct  concern  of  his  fate. 

It  was  easy  to  gather  in  rough  impression  from 
his  moods  what  had  happened,  but  I  wanted  more 
directly  to  know  how  Bellwattle  fared,  and  did 
not  hesitate  with  him  to  beat  about  the  bush. 

He  looked  up  at  me  then  as  though  he  had  seen 
me  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  entered  the  room. 

"She's  got  to  stay  in  bed  for  the  next  few  days, " 
he  said,  "and  if  she  isn't  better  then,  she  has  to  go 
to  a  nursing-home  in  Cheltenham  and  be  seen  by 
a  specialist  from  London. " 

"Does  she  know?"  I  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"How's  she  taking  it?" 

"Not  so  much  like  a  brick,"  said  he — "as  like 
a  foundation  of  solid  rock.  If  anybody  could  keep 
that  child  I  know  she  will.  When  the  doctor  told 
her  it  was  greatly  up  to  her,  how  quiet  she  could 
be,  and  how  brave  she  was,  there  came  that  look 
in  her  eyes,  like  she  had  when  she  marched  out 
into  the  hayfield  with  her  hatpin,  and  picked  out 
the  reins  from  the  cogwheels." 

268 


Cfje  Jioop  trntf)  a  <Sap  in  it 

He  said  that,  looking  straight  at  me  and  then, 
with  a  sudden,  unaccountable  abruptness,  he  rose 
from  his  chair  and  walked  quickly  out  of  the  room. 


269 


Chapter  XXVIII,  tf^S 

f  *(iV"'""L^ 


A  GENUFLEXION 
OF  THE  MIND 


"Bellwattle  was  taken 

into  the  nursing-home 

in  Cheltenham." 


271 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  GENUFLEXION   OF  THE  MIND 

EFERRING    to    a    simple    and 
common  operation   necessary  to 
young     calves    intended    to    be 
fattened  as  steers  for  the  market, 
Bellwattle    once    told    me    they 
had  been  exasperated. 
"I've  no  doubt  they  are, "  said  I  solemnly. 
"They  have  been, "  she  corrected  me. 
"Then  I've  no  doubt  they  were,"  I  replied. 
She  looked  at  me  confused. 
"Were  what?"  she  asked. 
"Exasperated, "  said  I. 
"That's  what  I  said,"  she  exclaimed. 
"And  it's  only  what  I  repeat, "  said  I. 
She  informed  me  I  was  remarkably  silly  some- 
times, and  talked  like  a  man  who  has  not  his  fair 
share  of  common  intelligence. 

Poor  Bellwattle!     I  wonder  why  we  use  the 
word — poor — when  we  want  to  convey  the  measure 
of  our  sympathy.    I  have  known  none  so  rich  as 
she  in  qualities  of  courage  and  endurance. 
18  273 


&f)eepsfetns  anb 

After  five  days  of  watching,  hoping,  but,  as 
far  as  I  know,  no  praying,  Bellwattle  was  taken 
into  the  nursing-home  in  Cheltenham  to  await 
the  coming  of  the  specialist  from  London. 

As  far  as  I  know,  I  have  said,  no  prayers  passed 
their  lips,  for  they  give  no  acknowledgment,  these 
two,  to  the  doctrines  of  religion.  They  never  go 
to  church,  but  not  because  they  do  not  believe  in 
God.  Rather  it  is,  I  should  imagine,  that  they 
have  so  vivid  and  personal  conception  of  the 
Deity  as  to  believe  that  the  services  which  are 
commonly  offered  Him  and  the  sermons  which 
are  commonly  preached  are  like  the  sycophantic 
obeisance  of  an  illiterate  commoner  anxious  to 
make  an  impression  in  the  presence  of  Royalty. 

"If  I'm  to  continue  to  believe  in  God, "  Cruik- 
shank  said  once,  ' '  I  must  be  allowed  to  understand 
His  intelligence  to  be  so  superior  to  the  nonsense 
that  is  mostly  talked  from  pulpits  as  to  be  posi- 
tively offended  by  it.  If  I  am,  how  much  more  so 
must  He  be?  If  I  am  to  continue  to  believe  in 
God,  either  the  majority  of  the  clergymen  I  have 
listened  to  must  be  done  away  with,  or  I  can't  go  to 
church.  Obviously  the  former  proposition  would 
be  unfair,  since  they  are  a  source  of  consolation 
to  a  good  many  people.  Therefore  all  that's  left 
me  is  to  stay  at  home. " 

274 


3  Genuflexion  of  tfje  illmb 

I  suppose  one  naturally  drops  out  of  all  the  forms 
and  ceremonies  of  religion  once  one  departs  from 
the  family  pew.  Cruikshank  told  me  he  had  not 
knelt  down  to  say  a  prayer  for  years.  But  prayer 
after  all  is  an  attitude  of  the  mind,  whilst  all  ortho- 
dox religion  tends  to  make  it  primarily  an  attitude 
of  the  body. 

I  doubt  very  much  whether  in  those  long  nights, 
wandering  near  the  door  of  her  room,  often  never 
going  to  bed  at  all,  but  undressing  and  slipping 
on  a  dressing-gown  lest  she  might  call  for  him  and 
discover  his  anxiety,  I  doubt  very  much  whether 
there  were  not  some  attitude  of  prayer  in  his  mind, 
even  though  it  may  never  have  reached  the  obse- 
quious confession  of  his  lips.  Indeed  I  am  sure 
there  was,  from  something  that  happened  later 
when  we  were  all  in  Cheltenham. 

After  she  had  been  at  the  nursing-home  for  a 
few  days,  it  became  suddenly  imperative  for  the 
specialist  to  be  summoned  at  a  moment's  notice. 
He  came  down  to  Cheltenham  on  a  Saturday 
night.  An  operation  had  to  be  performed  without 
delay  the  next  morning  at  nine. 

There  was  no  question  about  the  child  being 
saved  now.  Details  are  without  purpose.  The 
specialist  came  to  Cruikshank  that  night  after 
his  examination  and  asked  for  his  wishes  in  an 

275 


&f)eep*bin£f  auto  <&rep 

alternative  issue.  Performing  the  operation  with 
least  risk  to  Bellwattle,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
save  her  from  childlessness.  Taking  a  risk,  that 
unfortunate  condition  might  be  avoided.  Which 
was  he  to  do? 

Cruikshank  stared  at  the  specialist  in  astonish- 
ment. How  could  he  ask? 

"It's  my  duty  to  put  that  question  to  you," 
he  explained.  ' '  I  have  told  Mrs.  Townshend— 

"What  did  she1  say?" 

There  was  a  wrinkle  at  the  corner  of  the  doctor's 
mouth  which  at  any  other  time  would  have  been 
a  smile  as  he  replied — 

"Well — to  repeat  her  exact  words — she  said, 
"For  heaven's  sake  don't  make  me  nothing — 
and  then  I  think  she  laughed.  She's  a  wonderful 
patient. " 

Cruikshank  smiled.  I  believe  he  did  his  best 
to  laugh,  but  realising  it  was  a  risky  business,  he 
held  it  back  and  told  the  specialist  what  he  wished. 
He  could  have  had  no  "violent  ideas"  about  him- 
self just  then. 

I  stayed  with  him  that  night.  He  undressed 
and  got  straight  into  bed  without  submitting  the 
attitude  of  his  body  to  prayer.  We  talked  dis- 
jointedly  and  of  nothing  but  Bellwattle  till  at 
last,  tired  out,  he  fell  asleep. 

276 


3  Genuflexion  of  tfje 

There  was  no  sense  in  avoiding  a  subject  so 
close  to  our  minds.  Even  at  half -past  six  when 
we  were  wakened,  his  first  words  were — 

"Three  or  four  hours  more  and  then  I  shall 
know.  Funny  to  think  one's  lifetime  can  be 
pressed  into  three  or  four  hours.  Funny  to  think 
one  is  so  near  knowing  what  will  happen,  and  yet 
be  so  colossally  ignorant. " 

"I  know  she'll  be  all  right, "  said  I. 

"You  can't  know — you  can  only  believe,"  he 
replied. 

"Well,  don't  you  believe?"  I  asked. 

"I'm  not  sure,"  said  he.  "This  is  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I've  felt  my  knees  give  under  me. 
This  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  I've  felt  I  must 
look  outside  myself  for  the  determination  of  Fate, 
the  first  time  I've  felt  something  or  someone  more 
sure  of  the  purpose  of  my  existence  than  I  am 
myself.  I  can't  lose  her — that's  all  I  keep  saying 
to  myself,  and  possibly  it's  that  certainty  that 
I  can't  which  constitutes  my  belief  that  I  won't. 
I  don't  believe  any  more  than  that.  For  after  all, 
why  shouldn't  I  lose  her?  Other  men  lose  their 
wives  and  get  through  somehow.  I  couldn't  get 
through,  but  what  would  that  matter  in  the 
scheme  of  things  where  the  lives  of  millions  are 
involved?  I  wouldn't  hesitate  to  kill  a  fly  that  was 

277 


&Ijeep*kin0  anb 

crawling  over  my  food,  so  why  should  God  hesitate 
to  lay  His  hand  upon  me?" 

In  some  measure  he  was  giving  a  true  expres- 
sion to  what  he  felt,  but  there  was  the  high  tem- 
perature of  fever  in  it  all.  I  could  see  his  eyes 
were  burning  in  his  head. 

At  half-past  seven  the  two  doctors  went  to 
church  to  Holy  Communion  on  their  way  to  the 
nursing-home.  We  walked  with  them,  and  at  the 
door  of  the  church  we  stopped. 

' '  Aren't  you  coming  in  ?"  they  asked  Cruikshank. 

"No — "  said  he;  "I'll  meet  you  up  at  the 
Home." 

I  turned  away  with  him  and  he  began  walking 
up  the  first  street  that  offered  itself. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  in?"  I  said;  "I  think  you'd 
have  found  it  a  help. " 

"Go  in,"  he  repeated — "and  offer  my  prayers 
in  a  pitiable  funk  to  God!  I  can't  see  the  justice 
of  that.  I'd  have  given  all  I  know  to  go  in  there 
then  with  those  two  men — all  I  know — but  if  I 
have  to  believe  in  God,  I  must  have  some  respect 
for  Him.  When  you've  threatened  to  give  a  man 
the  sack,  do  you  like  him  the  better  for  whining  on 
his  knees?  Do  you  withdraw  your  threat  because 
of  the  pitiable  funk  he's  in?  I  shouldn't.  Come 
on — let's  go  round  this  way — how  long  does 

278 


8  Genuflexion  of  tfje  jHtnlJ 

Communion  take?  We  shall  be  there  in  time  if 
we  walk  quick." 

That  attitude  of  mind  seems  to  me  more  like 
a  prayer,  more  like  reverence  than  any  orthodox 
conception  of  religious  devotion  I  have  certainly 
heard  preached  from  the  pulpit. 

I  felt  I  could  no  longer  put  my  little  ideas  before 
him  then.  Suffering  was  urging  his  soul  to  greater 
heights  of  endurance  than  my  mind  then  had 
sensation  of.  At  that  moment  I  almost  envied 
him  for  the  pain  in  his  heart. 


279 


Chapter  XXIX 
THE  ULTIMATE  SURRENDER 


"And  then  the  nurse  came  in 

with  that  wonderful  automatic 

cheerfulness  of  nurses,  and  said, 

'Are  you  ready?' " 


281 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   ULTIMATE   SURRENDER 

WONDER  is  there  so  much  differ- 
ence between  men  and  women,  as 
men  and  women  would  say. 

I  received  a  definite  impression 
that  morning  of  Cruikshank  in  his 
trial  of  waiting  through  the  opera- 
tion as  of  a  woman  who  must  submit  to  the  pains 
of  childbirth.  From  what  he  told  me  of  Bell  wattle 
in  the  last  moments  he  saw  her,  there  was  sug- 
gested to  my  mind  the  courage  of  a  man  who  goes 
out  with  a  laugh  to  battle  in  a  forlorn  hope. 

The  inactivity  in  the  situation  of  one,  the  vital 
taking  part  in  the  situation  of  the  other  may  prob- 
ably have  been  the  basis  of  that  impression;  but 
I  shall  never  quite  think  of  a  man  again  as  wholly 
wanting  in  the  concern  of  bringing  children  into 
the  world. 

Every  incision  of  the  surgeon's  knife  cut  with 
that  rasping  sound  into  his  mind  as  into  her  flesh; 
every  drop  of  blood  that  was  spilled  during  those 

283 


anfc  <<5rep 

two  long  hours  of  the  operation,  oozed  in  ,a  steady 
stream  from  the  endurance  in  his  heart.  Visibly 
he  weakened  as  we  waited.  Visibly  he  paled  with 
this  mental  haemorrhage  too  deep  for  any  human 
aid  to  stem. 

As  we  walked  first  up  one  road,  then  down 
another  close  by  the  nursing-home,  waiting  during 
those  two  hours  that  were  beaten  out  in  single 
seconds  in  his  brain,  he  spoke  of  nothing  but  her, 
telling  me  things  most  intimate  in  his  heart,  which, 
even  to  enrich  my  story,  I  have  no  true  warrant 
to  repeat. 

Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  scarcely 
speaking  to  me  at  all,  but  was  like  a  man  in  his 
last  moments  with  rambling  sentences,  telling  to 
himself  the  little  story  of  his  life. 

What  he  told  me,  however,  of  their  last  inter- 
view before  they  parted  and  how  she  bore  herself, 
I  feel  I  am  at  liberty  to  re-tell;  for  then,  directly 
he  was  speaking  to  me,  conscious  of  his  words, 
and  eager  to  show  me  how  brave  a  thing  she  was. 

"I  don't  want  them  to  make  me  nothing,"  she 
said  to  him,  as  she  had  also  said  to  the  doctor. 

"Nothing!"  exclaimed  Cruikshank,  with  a 
sound  in  his  throat  that  was  like  a  laugh  drenched 
wet  with  tears. 

"When  it  comes  to  the  crux,  A.  H.,"  he  went 
284 


Ultimate  ftttrrenber 

on,  "it's  the  present  that  means  more  than  future 
and  past  all  flung  together.  Nothing!"  He 
made  the  same  odd  noise  again.  "Of  course  she's 
everything.  I  haven't  that  courage  or  clear  vision 
like  she  has  to  look  ahead,  and  realise  there  will 
be  a  time,  increasing  in  urgency  as  the  years  go 
on,  when  I  shall  want  a  child  and  hate  and  envy 
those  who  have  them.  She  can.  That's  the 
wonder  of  her." 

"She's  not  thinking  that,"  said  I. 

"What's  she  thinking  then?" 

"She's  thinking  of  her  own  justification,  her 
pride  in  the  functions  that  belong  to  her,  that 
make  her  a  woman  and  leave  you  just  a  man. 
If  they  destroy  that  power  she  has,  how  is  she 
to  hold  you?  How  is  she  better  than  you?  Sex 
after  all  is  the  common  determinator,  notwith- 
standing the  young  novelists  who  get  up,  robed 
in  the  mantle  of  realism,  and  say  there  is  too  much 
harping  upon  sex  in  modern  literature. " 

"How  is  she  to  hold  me,  you  say,"  he  inter- 
posed, refusing  to  allow  his  mind  to  be  distracted 
by  my  last  remark.  "Aren't  there  thousands  of 
things  in  the  lives  of  men  and  women  without 
children?  I  don't  think  love  wears  out  or  needs 
always  the  young  life  coming  in  between  as  a  link 
to  hold  it  together.  We've  been  married  seven 

285 


&f)eep*fein*  anb  <&rep  Russet 


years,  and  there  are  memories.  Things  happen 
in  seven  years.  The  memories  that  exist  between 
a  man  and  a  woman  get  knotted  like  cords  round 
them.  They  may  even  struggle  to  get  free,  but 
at  the  critical  moment,  there's  some  knot  it's  im- 
possible to  untie,  some  interweaving  of  the  cords 
it's  impossible  to  unravel.  The  very  effort  to  get 
free,  often  twines  them  only  closer  in  the  end.  " 

"Marriage,  you  see,"  he  added,  "is  an  odd 
business." 

"I'm  married  myself,  "  said  I. 

"Yes  —  just  married,"  he  corrected.  "In  re- 
spect of  the  argument,  that  means  nothing.  The 
man  who  has  just  married  has  taken  a  mistress  — 
no  more.  It's  only  later  he  finds  a  wife.  You 
don't  know  half  each  other's  secrets  yet.  You're 
still  a  mystery  to  her.  She's  still  a  mystery  to 
you.  Neither  circumstance  nor  events  have  lifted 
the  veil  and  showed  you  to  each  other  just  as 
you  are.  She  doesn't  believe  you  capable  of  telling 
a  lie.  Wait  until  she  finds  out  that  you  can. 
You  believe  her  incapable  of  deceiving  you  over 
the  smallest  of  things.  Wait  until  you  find  out 
that  she  does.  Then  you  can  begin  to  talk  about 
marriage.  Marriage  isn't  a  matter  of  pledges. 
Oaths  don't  keep  two  people  of  any  temper  or 
spirit  together.  The  only  true  sacrament  of 

286 


Ultimate  ^urrenbcr 

matrimony  is  in  people's  hearts  when,  looking 
at  each  other  with  a  clear  vision  they  can  say — 
we  find  no  real  good  in  life  without  each  other. 
The  real  consummation  of  marriage  is  the  ultimate 
surrender,  the  moment  when  you  can  lay  your 
life  down  like  a  vessel  on  the  board  and  say — 
'It's  yours — I  trust  you  to  fill  it  with  the  sweetest 
you  can  find.'  Till  you  come  to  that,  marriage 
is  all  priest's  talk. " 

We  dropped  then  for  a  while  into  silence  as 
we  walked.  I  was  neither  disposed  to  argue,  nor 
capable  of  denying  all  he  had  said.  If  ever  a  man 
knew  what  was  the  real  sacrament  of  marriage,  it 
was  Cruikshank  in  those  moments  while  we  walked 
the  side  streets  of  the  town  of  Cheltenham. 

"How's  the  hour?"  he  asked  for  the  twentieth 
time. 

I  looked  at  my  watch. 

"Twenty-five  minutes  more,"  said  I,  and  then 
he  flung  out  again  into  a  repetition  of  many 
things  he  had  said  already  and  forgotten,  telling 
me  also  for  the  first  time  of  those  last  moments  he 
had  had  with  her  before  her  summons  to  the 
operating  table. 

"She  was  lying  down  very  still  when  I  came 
into  the  room, "  said  he,  "but  immediately  she  saw 
who  it  was,  she  sat  up.  I  tried  to  persuade  her 

287 


anb  (Step 

to  keep  still,  but  she  wouldn't.  She  laughed  and 
said  she'd  have  enough  of  lying  down  for  the  next 
two  hours.  Have  women  very  meagre  imagina- 
tions? I  believe  there  was  but  a  faint  picture  in 
her  mind  of  all  that  would  soon  be  happening  to 
her.  Yet  I  know  well  enough  she  was  not  without 
her  fear  of  the  result.  You  wouldn't  have  noticed 
it.  You'd  have  thought  her  as  jolly  as  a  sandboy. 
But  then  we're  married  now.  There's  no  veil. 
We  don't  have  secrets.  We  know. " 

He  lit  another  of  the  innumerable  cigarettes 
he  was  smoking  and  went  on. 

"It's  hard  to  remember  what  we  talked  about, 
I  couldn't  have  been  with  her  more  than  five 
minutes.  I  know  she  asked  about  all  the  calves, 
the  dogs  and  the  horses,  speaking  as  if  she  were 
going  to  see  them  again  very  soon,  but  revealing 
as  plainly  as  anything  her  thought  she  might  never 
see  them  again.  Anyhow,  she  was  laughing  most 
of  the  time,  and  then  the  nurse  came  in  with  that 
wonderful  automatic  cheerfulness  of  nurses  and 
said,  'Are  you  ready?'  as  if  she  were  going  to 
have  a  Turkish  bath.  She  smiled  to  make  it  easier 
for  everybody  concerned  and  then,  I'm  damned 
if  she  didn't  begin  to  hum  as  the  nurse  helped  her 
on  with  her  wrap.  No  chloroform  for  her  in  bed. 
They  let  her  choose,  but  intimated  it  would  be 

288 


tltttmate 

better  for  her  to  have  it  after  she'd  reached  the 
operating  theatre.    A  theatre !    God !   I  could  kill 
'em  if  they  don't  pull  her  through.    But  what  do 
you  think  she  hummed  ? '' 
I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  stole  the  mutton  bone,  I  did, 
I  stole  the  mutton  bone." 

His  voice  cracked  and  upon  my  soul  there  was 
something  in  my  throat,  I  suppose  you  call  it  a 
lump.  It  was  the  devil  and  all  to  get  it  down. 


289 


Chapter  XXX 
THE  ISSUE 


"/«  powerlessness  we  wait 

with  apathy  of  body  for  the 

issue  of  our  Fate." 


291 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  ISSUE 

OW  fast  it  is  possible  to  live! 
How  swift,  it  is  inconceivable 
to  think,  this  little  lamp  of  our 
being  can  spend  its  wick  upon 
the  oil  of  energy  when  in  power- 
lessness  we  wait  with  apathy  of 
body  for  the  issues  of  our  Fate ! 

In  two  hours,  some  ten  years  had  passed  into 
the  features  of  Cruikshank's  face. 

"What  will  I  do?"  he  said  to  me  thrice  and 
more  than  thrice  during  that  time  in  which  we 
were  waiting — "What  will  I  do  if  she  doesn't 
come  back!" 

It  was  useless  to  tell  him  he  would  go  on  with 
his  head  up,  conscious  of  the  pride  in  himself  that 
was  left  him.  It  was  useless.  I  could  say  nothing 
to  that  question.  In  the  balance  of  such  an  issue, 
no  man  can  believe  what  he  will  do  till  the  issue 
is  past. 

And  then,  while  we  were  waiting  at  the  gate 
293 


anto 

of  the  nursing-home,  Bellwattle's  nurse  came  to 
the  front  door  and  beckoned  to  Cruikshank.  I 
felt  the  sensation  of  speed  in  her  gesture  and  he 
must  have  felt  it  too,  for  I  could  realise  the  blood 
in  his  limbs  had  turned  to  water  as  he  ran  to  meet 
her. 

It  is  a  matter  of  but  small  concern  what  I  felt 
those  five  minutes  while  he  was  absent.  When 
he  came  out  he  was  still  an  old  man — but  an  old 
man  who  has  touched  his  heart's  desire. 

"I've  seen  her,"  he  said,  "just  for  one  second. 
She  smiled  at  me " 

He  spoke  as  though  he  were  a  lover  who,  after 
long  months  of  patient  waiting,  has  won  the  favour 
of  one  kindly  glance  from  his  beloved  mistress. 

I  am  beginning  to  understand  what  he  means 
by  the  sacrament  of  matrimony. 


294 


Chapter  XXXI 
THE  KEY  OF  THE  CABINET 


"  Sometimes  I  catch  the  look 

in  Cruikshank's  eye,  as  he 

watches  her,  as  of  a  dealer 

in  old  china." 


295 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   KEY  OF  THE  CABINET 

HE  three  months  of  my  visit  are 
more  than  at  an  end.  I  have 
word  that  Clarissa's  father  has 
come  to  his  expected  rest,  and 
she  is  even  now  upon  the  high 
seas  looking  toward  these  shores 
which  have  become  her  home. 

After  five  long  weeks,  through  the  varying 
vicissitudes  of  her  recovery,  Bellwattle  has  re- 
turned to  the  Court,  and  for  the  last  few  days,  still 
attended  by  her  nurse,  she  has  been  making  gentle 
excursions  about  the  farm. 

Sometimes  I  catch  the  look  in  Cruikshank's 
eye  as  he  watches  her  as  of  a  dealer  in  old  china 
who,  having  broken  a  valuable  specimen  and 
received  it  back  from  the  riveters,  has  for  the 
first  time  realised  its  true  value.  He  touches  her 
tenderly,  as  though  she  might  break  again.  As 
he  walks  upstairs  with  her  in  the  evening  to  her 
bedroom,  she  leaning  upon  his  arm,  it  is  as  though 

297 


anb  <£rep  ftussct 


he  were  placing  her  in  a  cabinet,  turning  the  key 
and  shutting  her  away  against  the  ravages  of  dust 
or  the  slightest  hazard  of  a  clumsy  hand. 

The  evening  before  last  he  came  down  to  the 
study  where  I  was  sitting,  with  all  the  air  of  a  man 
who  has  put  his  treasure  safely  away,  and  has 
secured  the  key  carefully  in  his  pocket. 

"Has  Clarissa  ever  run  you  up  any  bills?"  he 
asked  as  he  stood  by  the  mantelpiece  and  filled 
his  pipe. 

"Good  heavens,  no!"  said  I.  "What  on 
earth  --  ?" 

"What  will  you  do  when  she  does?"  he  in- 
terrupted. 

"Well,  she  won't,  "  said  I  ;  "  I  make  her  a  regular 
allowance,  and  she  knows  very  well  she  can't 
exceed  it.  " 

"Does  she  know  what  your  income  is?" 

"No,  "said  I. 

I  was  too  surprised  at  his  question  to  refuse  an 
answer.  It  was  completely  hidden  from  me  what 
he  was  driving  at. 

"I  don't  think  any  man  is  called  upon,  "  I  added 
—  "to  let  his  wife  know  his  income.  So  long  as 
the  allowance  he  makes  her  is  consistent  with  the 
way  they  live,  that's  enough  —  isn't  it?" 

"She'll  get  a  shrewd  idea  of  your  income  sooner 
298 


"After  five  long  weeks,  through  the  varying 
vicissitudes  of  her  recovery,  Bellwattle  has 
returned  to  the  Court,  and  for  the  last  few 
days,  still  attended  by  her  nurse,  she  has 
been  making  gentle  excursions  about  the  farm." 


299 


anfc 

or  later,"  he  replied,  and  there  was  a  tone  of 
bravado  in  his  voice  for  which  I  could  find  no 
justifiable  explanation.  "When  she  comes  to 
learn  of  your  thousands,  she'll  have  a  very  poor 
idea  of  her  little  hundreds;  and  what '11  you  do 
then  when  she  starts  a  little  account  at — we'll 
say  Nash  and  Wittersham's — and  it  mounts  up 
and  mounts  up  till  they  begin  to  get  anxious,  and 
look  to  the  fountain-head  of  supplies  for  assurance, 
if  for  nothing  more?" 

" Women  don't  do  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  I. 
' '  My  God !  If  she  did— well— there'd  be  the  devil 
of  a  row.  I'm  not  going  to  pat  myself  on  the  back, 
but  I'm  quite  generous  about  the  allowance  I  make 
her.  I  give  her  little  presents  besides.  I  think  I 
should  kick  up  a  hell  of  a  row. " 

He  leant  back  against  the  mantelpiece,  blowing 
clouds  of  smoke  out  of  his  mouth  and  chuckling 
with  laughter. 

"You're  not  married  yet, "  said  he.  "I've  told 
you  that  before.  You  only  have  a  mistress  and 
you're  cock-sure  you're  going  to  be  master.  While 
Bellwattle's  been  ill  and  couldn't  be  worried  I've 
had  to  open  her  letters  for  her.  One  hundred  and 
eighty-five  pounds'  worth  of  bills  have  disclosed 
themselves  in  the  process.  I've  just  been  showing 
them  to  her." 

300 


Hep  of  tfje  Cabinet 

"Didn't  she  know  about  it?"  I  asked  in 
astonishment. 

"Oh!  she  guessed  right  enough.  I've  seen  the 
little  look  in  her  eye  at  post-time,  like  a  cat  watch- 
ing for  a  mouse.  In  the  most  casual  voice  in  the 
world,  she's  inquired  whether  there  were  any 
letters  for  her.  Of  course  she's  receiving  all  her 
correspondence  now.  But  I've  paid  the  bills 
while  she  was  in  the  nursing-home,  and  I've  got 
all  the  receipts,  so  that  she  has  no  communications 
from  her  creditors,  and  she  can't  make  it  out. 
She's  had  bills  before,  and  I've  paid  them,  and 
she's  sworn  she'll  never  have  bills  again.  But  she 
knows  all  about  this  hundred  and  eighty-five 
pounds.  And  sometimes  she's  been  like  the  cat 
that's  watching,  and  sometimes  she's  felt  like  the 
mouse  that's  caught.  This  evening  I  showed  her 
all  the  receipts. " 

"What  did  she  do?" 

"She  broke  down  and  she  cried  like  a  baby, 
and  she  makes  the  most  ludicrous  grimaces  when 
she  cries.  I  calculate  she  shed  just  one  hundred 
and  eighty-five  tears,  if  you  can  follow  what  I 
mean  by  that. " 

I  confessed  it  was  too  subtle  for  me.  My  mind 
was  fully  occupied  with  wondering  whether  such  ex- 
periences of  married  life  as  these  were  to  be  mine. 

301 


aitfc  (Prep  l\ugs;ct 


"Why  one  hundred  and  eighty-five?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  every  one  of  them  was  worth  a  pound 
to  me,  so  I  calculated  there  must  have  been  one 
hundred  and  eighty-five,  since  I  was  that  much 
out  of  pocket.  " 

"You  think  she'll  never  do  it  again,  you  mean?' 

He  stood  there  in  front  of  me,  and  he  roared 
with  laughter. 

"Do  it  again!"  he  chuckled;  "she'll  go  on 
doing  it  till  she's  an  old  dame  with  white  lace  caps, 
and  every  quarter-day  she'll  keep  a  quick  eye  on 
the  post.  Of  course  she'll  do  it  again  —  and  every 
time  she's  found  out  she'll  cry  —  and  every  tear  she 
sheds  will  close  the  fibres  of  those  cords  that  hold 
us  till  a  ship's  cable'll  be  nothing  in  its  strength  to 
that  which  will  secure  us  in  our  anchorage.  I  tell 
you  you  don't  know  what  marriage  is.  Wait  till 
you  know  your  mistress  for  a  deceitful,  squander- 
ing, thriftless  wench,  and  if  you  want  her  still,  you 
can  do  without  benefit  of  clergy.  " 

He  stood  there  smoking  his  pipe  and  looking 
down  at  me,  and  I'm  damned  if  he  didn't  rattle 
the  keys  in  his  pocket. 


302 


Chapter  XXXI I 
THE  LAST  EVENING 


"  On  this  occasion  of  my  last 

evening  at  Lemington,  Bell-wattle 

walked  across  the  orchard  with  me." 


3<>3 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  LAST   EVENING 

HE  evening  before  my  departure, 
some  few  days  after  this  conver- 
sation with  Cruikshank,  circum- 
stance presented  me  with  the 
only  opportunity  since  her  ill- 
ness of  having  a  talk  with 
Bellwattle. 

It  had  become  my  duty  in  her  absence  to  feed 
the  ducks  and  inveigle  them  home  of  an  evening. 
I  think  on  the  whole,  I  was  better  at  the  job  than 
Bellwattle,  for  if  her  blandishments  were  superior 
to  mine,  I,  at  least,  was  a  better  shot  at  throwing 
the  corn  in  through  the  door  of  the  house.  Fre- 
quently she  missed  her  aim,  when  the  grains  lay 
outside  about  the  door  and  nothing  would  induce 
the  ducks  to  go  in  so  long  as  they  could  get  food 
and  freedom  at  the  same  time. 

Once  within  their  mansion,  I  also  was  quicker 
in  getting  to  the  door,  securing  the  padlock  and 
locking  them  in.    In  a  farm  where  there  are  neigh- 
20  305 


£>beep*tun*  anb 

bours  and  farm-hands  and  the  intensive  system 
is  not  employed,  I  would  first  of  all  recommend  a 
padlock  for  making  fowls  lay. 

On  this  occasion  of  my  last  evening  at  Leming- 
ton,  Bellwattle  walked  across  the  orchard  with 
me.  We  both  whistled  as  we  went,  and  the  stream 
of  ducks  from  all  quarters  of  the  farm  waddled 
after  us. 

Presently  she  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  my  arm 
and  ceased  her  whistling.  I  knew  she  was  going 
to  speak. 

"Well,  things  have  happened  since  you  came 
here,  A.  H., "  she  said,  gently,  and  again  as  before, 
I  waited  for  her  to  set  the  measure  of  her  confidence 
lest,  in  taking  too  great  a  handful,  I  might  not  be 
able  to  withdraw  my  hand  from  the  vessel  in  which 
it  was  contained. 

"I  wonder  what  I  ought  to  do,"  she  went  on 
presently,  giving  me  her  thoughts  one  by  one, 
which  is  so  much  better  than  snatching  for  them 
and  losing  all. 

"What  do  you  mean — do?"  said  I,  and  in  talk- 
ing to  a  woman  in  this  mood,  one  has  to  be  so 
careful  to  keep  that  note  in  the  voice  with  a  slencler 
balance  between  casualness  and  interest.  It  is  as 
well  to  lower  your  usual  register  as  you  speak.  The 
faintest  hint  of  a  jarring  sound  might  frighten  her. 

306 


"  r&e  evening  before  my  departure 

circumstance  presented  me  with  the 

only  opportunity  since  her  illness  of 

having  a  talk  with  Bellwattle." 


307 


anb 

"Well,"  she  continued,  "what's  poor  old  Cruik- 
shank  going  to  do?  He  loves  children.  I  expect 
you've  found  that  out. " 

"Mustn't  he  do  what  other  people  do  in  the 
same  circumstances  ? " 

In  her  simplicity,  she  asked  what  that  was. 

"Go  without, "  said  I  abruptly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"The  simplest  way,"  said  she — "would  be  to 
divorce  me.  It  is  ground  for  divorce — isn't  it?" 

I  looked  at  her  in  bewilderment. 

"Have  you  suggested  that  to  him? "  I  inquired. 

By  some  gesture  or  another,  she  indicated  the 
negative. 

"Well,  try  him,"  said  I.  "And  have  a  table 
or  some  solid  piece  of  furniture  between  you  when 
you  say  it." 

She  laughed,  and  as  suddenly  became  serious. 

"I  mean  it,  A.  H.,"  she  said;  "it's  more  to  him 
than  a  lot  of  men.  Why  should  he  miss  it? " 

"Is  he  the  only  one  who  misses  it?"  I  inquired. 

She  screwed  up  her  lips  and  suddenly  taking 
a  handful  of  corn  out  of  my  bowl,  she  threw  it 
extravagantly  to  the  ducks,  nowhere  near  the 
vicinity  of  their  hall  door. 

I  took  it  upon  myself  then  to  tell  her  of  all  I 
had  seen  of  Cruikshank  during  those  hours  and 

308 


days  while  she  was  passing  through  her  valley  in 
the  shadow. 

"Cruikshank's  taught  me,"  said  I,  "by  deed 
and  word  during  these  last  five  weeks — that  I  am 
little  more  than  living  in  sin,  and  were  it  not  for 
the  benefit  of  an  obliging  clergyman  who  has 
been  paid  his  fee,  am  no  more  a  married  man  than 
the  freethinker  who  lives  with  his  lady  in  a  Garden 
City." 

"He's  always  extravagant  in  all  the  things  he 
says, "  she  laughed.  ' '  The  funny  part  is  he  means 
them,  and  still  funnier  is  the  way  they  really  sound 
true.  Well — if  you  think  I'm  sufficient — Heaven 
knows  I'm  content  to  be. " 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said 
I,  "I  don't  know  whether  I  haven't  told  you  too 
much  already  in  letting  you  know  what  he  feels. " 

She  tightened  her  hand  on  my  arm  and,  when 
I  looked  up  quickly,  I  just  caught  sight  of  that 
ridiculous  grimace  Cruikshank  told  me  she  makes 
when  she  cries.  It  was  gone  in  a  second,  and 
forcing  a  little  smile  in  its  place,  she  pointed  to 
the  pond  to  which  the  ducks  had  resorted  in  their 
impatience. 

"How  little  a  thing, "  said  she — 

"To  remember  for  years 

"To  remember " 

309 


£>f)eep*lun*  atifc 

"Oh,  come  on,  A.  H.,  let's  get  these  ducks  to 
bed." 

When  the  last  duck  was  in  and  the  door  locked, 
we  turned  back  to  the  house  and  through  Cruik- 
shank's  bedroom  window  which  overlooks  the 
orchard,  we  heard  the  sound  of  whistling,  and 
could  just  see  him  tying  his  tie  in  front  of  the  glass. 


310 


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